


all the sins (you never had the courage to commit)

by mormon-hair (frankie_31)



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Crime Boss Bill Tench, Double-crossing, Honey Pot Holden Ford, M/M, Organized Crime, Slurs, Unsafe Sex, please wear condoms guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-12-15 22:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21025406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankie_31/pseuds/mormon-hair
Summary: Chicago. A neon whirl of discos and back alley drug deals.  Run by a man no one can seem to get close to. Holden Ford is the junior agent assigned to go undercover in the seedy counterculture that takes place in the back of Chi-town clubs. Holden spends the majority of his days as the get-away car until his team receives intel that perhaps he's more to Bill Tench's taste. Holden's single-minded focus seems to do him a disservice until Tench shows him exactly how interested he really is. Holden can glean information from Chicago's up-and-coming crime boss and gain experience at the same time, win-win. However, Tench has more bark to his bite than Holden could have anticipated.





	1. Chapter 1

“It’s no good,” Agent Walsh says when she opens the car door. She plops down in the seat, tossing her fur stole onto the dashboard. “Tench is  _ not _ playing for my team.”

“You mean he’s—“

“Queer as a three dollar bill,” Walsh agrees and leans down to unzip her knee-high, pleather boots, holding a lit cigarette between her fingers. She gestures with it to her pushed-up cleavage. “I shook all of this in his face and he played like he was going for it. But then I ended up in the lap of his bodyguard.”

“Maybe you weren’t his type,” Holden suggests and she pins him with a look. 

“Ford,” she says plainly. “I’m everyone’s type.”

And, to be fair, she is everyone’s type. She’s got blonde curls cascading over her shoulders, a little button nose covered in freckles and giant blue eyes. She’s a classic American beauty. 

“Fair enough,” Holden says and puts the car in drive. He steers out of the parking lot and heads to the rendezvous. “Do you know what our next move is?”

“Hell no,” Walsh says and rolls down her window a little. She takes a drag off her cigarette and presses her feet against the dash. “All I know is that the tape holding this tube top up is chafing.”

“I’m sorry,” Holden says, in lieu of saying nothing. 

“Not like you put it there,” she says with a shrug. “Maybe Turner will put you in platforms next, Ford. Let you dance in a little cage for Tench. Wouldn't that be a sight?”

“I think I’d look like a giraffe,” Holden says honestly. “And I’d break an ankle.”

***

“Come on, Ford,” Agent Turner says, hands on hips. “Consider it a challenge.”

“You’re joking,” Holden says and crosses the room to get away from his superior officer. “You can’t really be asking me that.”

“We need the intel,” Turner says. “And you picked the short straw. All the greenhorns do the worst jobs.”

“Combing through dumpsters and pretending to be—to be a queer are completely different.”

“Pretending. That’s the key word, Ford. You sidle up to Tench, flash your doe eyes eyes at him. Get a little info and then we’ve got him by the short and curlies,” Turner says, arms out like he’s arguing for pizza toppings. “Case closed, we hand it off to VICE and call it a win.”

“Are you hazing me?” Holden asks. “Is this hazing?”

“Not hazing,” Turner says, waving his hand like he’s searching for a word. “Doing shit you don’t want to do is part of the job.”

Walsh comes in, towling her hair dry, in a grey FBI issue tracksuit. Her cigarette is dangling from her free hand. She crawls into an armchair and tucks her legs under her. 

“We made Walsh do it,” Turner tries. “Are you trying to tell me you’re better than Walsh?”

“Of course not,” Holden says and turns miserably to Walsh. She’s holding back laughter, cigarette bouncing between her lips. “But it’s different.”

“Bottom line,” Turner says and crosses to pat Holden on the back. “You’re strapping in to bell bottoms and platforms and you’re gonna work—well,  _ whatever _ wiles you have on Tench and get our intel. Same as when you pretend to be a pimp or a dealer.”

“This is going to make me a laughing stock,” Holden says, sitting on a nearby chair. He can feel himself giving in. Turner puts his hand back on his shoulder. 

“We’ll seal the record. We’ve all had to do some unsavory acts in the name of justice, Holden. We’ve all done things we don’t take home and tell the wife about,” Turner says. “You’ll provide a sealed record and all evidence will be privileged. The Bureau doesn’t want this kind of story getting out either.”

“Even assuming no one ever knows that I played as a go-go dancer,” Holden starts and rests his face in his hands. His next words are muffled. “I am not a seductive person.”

“Hell if I don’t know it,” Turner agrees and crosses to flop on the couch. “But we don’t have another agent in the budget. You’re gonna have to try something. We’ll keep Walsh on it with you. She can grease the way.”

“Thanks, boss,” Walsh says with a mock salute. “I love greasing shit.”

“Sorry, Walsh,” Turner says with a grimace. “Poor phrasing.”

“Tomorrow then,” Walsh says, blowing lazy smoke circles from her chair. “We can pick up a uniform tomorrow morning.”

“A uniform,” Turner parrots with a snort. 

“Try and offer me at least a little dignity,” Holden protests and Walsh laughs long and hard.

***

“My ass shouldn’t be this easily seen,” Holden complains, plucking the hem of the body-hugging, silk shorts away from his rear. “And I can see my nipples.”

“Get the fuck over it,” Walsh replies. She’s putting on mascara, kneeling on the bathroom counter. Her small frame lends itself easily to crawling on things she shouldn’t. 

“I feel like a rent boy,” Holden says, pulling his sheer, mesh t-shirt away from his chest. In addition to being see-through, it’s cropped above his navel and his entire lower stomach is on display. 

“You look bitchin’, Ford,” she says and casts him an appraising look. “I don’t know what to do with your hair though.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Holden asks, pressing his bangs flatter to his head. He hates the shorts and the tiny shirt and the knee-high striped athletic socks and white sneakers she’s stuck him in. He looks impossibly foolish. 

“I can’t begin to answer that,” Walsh says and crawls down off the counter. “You’re as good as we’re gonna get. Let’s go.”

Turner turns away when Holden comes in the room and Holden flushes in shame. 

“Alright, team,” Turner says and waves a hand over his head. He’s clearly stifling laughter. “Head out.”

“See you on the other side, boss,” Walsh chirps and bounces out the door. She’s in a denim jumpsuit with silver platforms and her blonde curls ribbon out behind her. 

“Please, don’t tell anyone about this,” Holden says quietly and leaves as quickly as possible. 

***

The club is noisy and dark with intermittent flashes of strobing lights. It smells like sweat and floor varnish and Holden is deeply,  _ deeply  _ out of his element. 

“Let’s play the room a little,” Walsh says in his ear. “Tench is in the VIP section so we will have to work our way up there. I probably have an in with the bodyguard.”

“Understood,” Holden replies as she pulls him into the mass of bodies. Holden absolutely can not dance but Walsh grabs him by the hips and manually swivels them. 

“You’re like Pinocchio,” she laughs in his ear. “Just take a breath, Ford.”

“I'm trying,” he says and she leans in to press her forehead against his cheek. 

“Got eyes on the target,” she says. “He’s making his way to the bar. Come on.”

They end up leaning on the bar, Walsh gestures over the bartender just in time for Tench to walk up beside them. 

This is Holden’s first, up close look at Tench. He’s in grey plaid, a suit and black turtleneck. Normal wingtip shoes and a military flattop. He should stick out like a sore thumb but he merges effortlessly into the club goers. 

He’s undeniably dangerous, solid and tall. Holden feels inexpressibly vulnerable in nothing but shorts beside him. 

“Hi,” Walsh says cheerfully to him and Tench flicks a glance at her. 

“Hello again, blondie,” he says with a wry smile. His eyes trail to Holden, starting at his face and dragging down the length of his body. “Don’t think your friend was here last night.”

“Nah, Mr. Tench,” she says and twists her hair around her finger, leans so she’s blocking Holden off from Tench’s view. “Harry’s a real stick-in-the-mud. I can never get him out of the dorms.”

“You’re in college, Harry?” Tench asks and he shifts just slightly so he can look at Holden again. Holden swallows, mind blanking and Tench raises an eyebrow. 

“He’s on the honor roll. And basically Amish,” Walsh says, casually moving so Holden’s in plain sight. She’s teasing Tench, whether he knows it or not. 

“Amish?” Trench asks, a smile quirking his lips. 

“Protestant,” Holden blurts and starts sweating immediately. 

“So, basically Amish,” Tench says and he looks away for a moment. “You two want to come up to VIP? I’m sure my man wouldn’t mind seeing you again, blondie.”

“We’d love to, Mr. Tench,” Walsh twinkles and she links an arm with Holden. 

Tench orders a bottle service and then leads them up, behind a velvet rope and back into a quieter part of the club. The walls are lined with low couches and there are glittering chandeliers dotting the ceiling. Tench’s crew is set up on a raised platform in the back of the room. 

“Come on,” Tench says, a hand low on Walsh’s back as he guides them up on to the platform. Walsh leans down to hug some guy, probably the bodyguard she’d mentioned, and Tench sits in a purple, plush armchair. 

Holden ends up standing awkwardly on the platform, feeling exposed in his scraps of clothing. Tench lights a cigar and levels a steady look at Holden. He raises his hand and gestures twice to him.

Holden moves without thinking, knees knocking together and then he’s crossing the platform to stand before Tench. Tench exhales a silky cloud of cigar smoke and then smiles at Holden through it. 

“Sit down,” he says and pats his arm rest. Holden twitches, unsure how to climb aboard and then Walsh is pushing him down onto the arm rest. His bare knees press awkwardly against Bill’s clothed ones and Tench turns just slightly to more fully regard him. 

“Uh,” Holden says intelligently. “I like your turtleneck.”

“Thank you,” Tench says, mouth curved into an amused smile. “I like your shorts.”

He puts a hand on Holden’s knee and rubs a thumb over his knee. Holden freezes.

“You’re just purely driven snow, huh?” Tench asks and Holden has a feeling he looks like a startled owl. “How’d you end up in my club?”

“Oh, uh--,” Holden blurts and silences himself in an effort to string a coherent thought together. His brain is whiting out, he’s unable to think or reason. He can’t think of anything to say and he’s ruining the entire operation. 

“Calm down,” Tench says, his steady voice breaks through the panic. “Take a breath.”

“Here,” Walsh says, leaning over his shoulder and holding a cigarette out to him. 

“I don’t smoke,” Holden says and Tench rubs a hand over his thigh. 

“It’s not your typical cigarette,” Tench says and Holden looks at it closer. The smoke curling from the tip of the cigarette is too thick and the smell, once he calms down enough to think, is certainly not tobacco. 

“Oh,” Holden says and Bill sits up a little more. “I haven’t smoked a joint before.”

“You just suck,” Walsh says into his ear, one hand pressed against his spine. “And blow.”

Holden flushes again, miserably, and Tench looks a little amused at their exchange. 

“Look, kid—Harry. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he says and plucks the marijuana cigarette from Walsh’s fingers. He inhales, holds the smoke in his lungs. “This is a free country.”

“God bless,” Walsh laughs and squeezes Holden around the middle. “Calm down, Harry. Nothing to be worried about.”

“Come here,” Tench says again, and he sits forward. Holden leans in, brain trying frantically to keep up. “Just inhale.”

Tench’s mouth is less than an inch from his, close enough that Holden can see the rings of pale blue in his iris. Tench blows a steady stream of smoke into Holden’s mouth and Holden breathes it in. 

He expects to feel high much sooner than he does. And then, all at once, he’s high. He thinks he’s high. 

He might be high?

“Fundamentally speaking,” he starts a while later, too loud in comparison to the calm energy the rest of Tench’s entourage have. Tench barks a laugh. “No, listen. Fundamentally speaking, the Amish have the right idea.”

“Okay,” Tench says. “I’ll bite. What do the Amish have right?”

“Microwaves are just kind of freaky,” Holden says and draws his knees up. He tucks the toes of his sneakers under Tench’s thigh. “Do you understand how they work? Like the literal process that makes them heat up food?”

“What in the goddamn Hell are you talking about?” Tench asks, grinning up at him. 

“I’m getting to a point,” Holden assures him and grabs his own knees. “The microwave causes the individual molecules of the food to vibrate, okay? And the friction caused by the vibration is what warms up the food.”

“And?” 

“And—,” Holden pauses, grasps for his train of thought. “Shit. I don’t know. The Amish have the right idea. Banning those things.”

“You’re toasted, altar boy,” Tench says with a smile. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Oh,” Holden says and leans forward. He needs to say yes. He looks at Tench carefully. If things go south, there’s little chance he’d be able to overpower him. He has no weapon on him and he’s in what is basically undergarments. But he needs to say yes. “Sure.”

“Nah, forget it,” Bill says and sits back in his chair. His leg moves over the tops of Holden’s feet. “You look like a lamb for slaughter.”

“I feel a little like a lamb,” Holden says and Tench snorts. “I suppose that makes you the wolf.”

“Did you get that line from a porno?” Tench asks and then laughs to himself. “No, you didn’t. Have you ever seen porn?”

“No,” Holden answers honestly. “Well. As soon as I moved out, I bought a nudie mag from the corner store. Does that count?”

“I don’t think so, kid,” Tench says and he wraps his hand around Holden’s calf. “Why’d you let your friend drag you out here? This is not your scene.”

“No,” Holden agrees. “It’s really not. But I’m--Well, I don’t want to get too serious.” 

“Come with me,” Tench says again, still holding Holden’s calf. “Let’s get some air”

Holden swallows, nods jerkily. 

“Lead the way.”

***

They go up on the roof. The club is just a big square building and the roof matches. Just a big flat space under the stars. 

Tench walks over to the nearest ledge and sits on it, lights a cigarette. A regular one. 

Harden trails after him. His bare thighs rub unpleasantly, they’re tacky with sweat and he folds his arms around himself beside Tench. 

“You’re something else,” Tench says, looking up at Holden, and he pats the ledge beside him. “Sit down.”

“Do people always listen when you talk?” Holden asks and sits carefully on the ledge. He makes the mistake of peering over the edge. Passed the pink neon business sign, there’s the drop to the sidewalk. He probably wouldn’t die if he fell but he’d most likely break a bone. 

“I guess they do,” Tench says. “Are you a good listener?”

“I should say ‘yes’,” Holden says and drags his eyes away from the sidewalk below. He looks over at Tench who is lit from below neon pink. It makes him look like something from a dream. Holden realizes he’s still high. “But I’m not going to lie. I’m not a good listener, Mr.Tench.”

“I appreciate the honesty,” Tench says. “Call me Bill, though. ‘Mr.Tench’ makes me feel like some lecherous creep.”

“I’m...going to stay quiet,” Holden says with a smile and Bill smiles from around his cigarette. 

“I get the feeling you’re kind of a little shit,” Bill says and Holden smiles into his own fist. 

“That’s probably accurate,” he says. 

“So, what are you in college for?” 

“You don’t want to hear about my major,” Holden says and he looks over his shoulder, out at the city. It’s different up here, in the wee hours of the night. He wonders if the fictional Harry ever kissed a man. He’s playing a part, maybe he should commit. He gets a surge of adrenaline and looks back at Bill. “You want me to kiss you.”

“Oh?” Bill asks, pulling his cigarette out of his mouth and setting his hand on his knee. “Do I?”

“You definitely want me to kiss you,” Holden says, nodding. A shy grin creeps onto his face. “And I think I might.”

“Anything I can do to help you make that decision?” Bill asks and flicks his cigarette off the ledge. He turns so he’s got a leg over the edge of the building, so he’s straddling the ledge. 

“Tell me something no one down there knows,” Holden breathes--No-- _ Harry  _ breathes. He’s a guy on a roof with a handsome man and he’s about to kiss him. He leans towards Bill. 

Bill hesitates, eyes darting out over the city and then back to Holden. He licks his lips. 

“Alright,” Bill says and sits forward. Holden leans towards him more. “I was almost a fed. After the war. Got through academy and everything. Then some shit happened with my family. I had to leave. And now, I do what I do.”

“A fed? Like FBI?” Holden asks, thrown, and Bill nods. 

“Can you picture me at a desk job? Pushing my little files around and wearing a badge,” Bill laughs and Holden rubs a hand over his goosebumps. 

“You’d be kind of sexy with a gun,” he says, trying to bring back the light mood and Bill laughs and pulls his suit jacket apart. He’s got a shoulder holster on, twin wooden grips are nestled on either side of his ribs. 

A thrum of fear twists in Holden’s gut and he swallows. Bill could dispatch him effortlessly. 

“You don’t look like you think it’s sexy,” Bill says and buttons his jacket again. “You look like you’re going to throw up.”

“I just-- I don’t do this,” Holden says. “I don’t ever do this.”

“Do what?”

“You’re dangerous,” Holden says and Bill nods slowly. “You could probably break my neck. If you didn’t just shoot me. I’m--I really feel like a lamb.” 

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Bill says and he reaches out and catches one of Holden’s hands. “You don’t need to be worried.”

“I’ve felt worried all night,” Holden says and examines his hand against Bill’s. Bill’s hands are big, square and he’s got calluses on his palms. Holden’s feels even more vulnerable. “These clothes. This club. It’s not me.”

“Then why did you come?”

“I’m--I’m tired of feeling useless,” Holden says, finding an unsettling amount of truth in his own words. “And I hoped that I’d find something here tonight. Something to make all of this worth it.”

Bill draws him forward then, pulls him by his hand, and Holden scoots towards him. One of Bill’s hands lands on his hip and the other trails up to grip the back of his neck. Holden puts a hand between them and leans up, just enough to brush their mouths together. 

There’s a rushing in Holden’s ears that transforms into a pounding, his own heartbeat’s staccato pulsing filling his head. He sucks in a breath and Bill takes the small opening of his mouth to deepen the kiss, turning and yanking him in closer. Holden is consumed, all of his senses directed at the mouth--the hands--the  _ tongue  _ on him. 

“Wait,” he says, drawing back, and Bill does. 

“Wait for what?” Bill asks, voice coarse. The timber of his voice sends an electric shock down Holden’s spine and he melts back into Bill’s hands. 

The kiss turns desperate, heated and mindless, and Holden feels a rolling heat building in his chest. He’s blushing, despite himself, and he pulls back to get some oxygen to his brain. He’s scant inches from Bill, looking into his face for clarity. The neon pink glow from the sign highlights his eyelashes, makes his skin look like some kind of abstract painting. 

He looks just as wrecked as Holden feels, eyebrows furrowed and mouth just barely agape. 

“Harry,” he says and it’s like a bucket of ice water on Holden. He is  _ not  _ Harry. He’s Holden and he’s kissing an established criminal on a roof in full-view of God and everyone. 

“I should go,” he says and pulls back, stands. He feels ludicrous, hard in his stupid silk shorts, and he turns and makes a break for the stair way. 

“Harry,” Bill calls. He curses, there’s the sound of dress shoes on concrete but Holden is already halfway down the stairs. He bursts into the VIP room, rushing through it without looking for Walsh. She can extract herself safely. 

He forces his way through the crowd, not looking to see if Bill is following and he doesn’t stop moving until he’s in the driver’s seat of the car. He’s panting, trying to catch his breath for more than one reason. He catches his own eyes in the rearview mirror. 

His pupils are blown, his mouth swollen and he looks debauched, frankly. 

“What the fuck?” Walsh asks, pulling the door open. Holden jumps and turns to her. “Oh, shit.”

She looks a little crazy, eyes wide and mouth in a little ‘o’. 

“What?” Holden snaps and she presses her hand to her mouth. 

“So, I guess that went as planned,” she says and her shoulders shake a little. “You look like you got rode hard and put away wet, Ford.”

“Jesus Christ,” Holden mutters and starts the car. “Can you at least pretend to be professional, Walsh?” 

“Oh, calm down,” Walsh chides and buckles her seat belt. “You did exactly what you were supposed to. Did you get any intel?”

“Nothing usable,” Holden answers on default. “He was almost one of us. An agent.”

“While interesting, overall useless,” Walsh says and cranks her window down. “I, on the other hand, got us invite to something called a white party.”

“Is that some KKK shit?” Holden asks and Walsh rolls her eyes. 

“No, smarty,” she says. “It’s a party where everyone wears white. And probably does coke. Ever done coke?”

“No,” Holden says indignantly. “Have you?”

“Nope,” Walsh says, clearly lying. She sticks a cigarette in her mouth and talks around it. “I’m a model agent. You could really learn something from me.”

“When’s the party?” 

“Two weeks,” Walsh answers. “So, figure out how you want to play this.”

“I don’t want to play anything,” Holden answers, turning down the street towards their safe house. “I want to wrap this op up and forget about it.” 

“Well, you’d better wrap something--”

“ _ Walsh. _ ”

***

Holden is sprawled one his back in bed, hands outstretched. The ceiling of their safe house is peeling in places, pockets of ruined beige paint and exposed drywall. 

Holden is very carefully not thinking about his illicit roof-top experience with Bill. Very, very carefully. 

But, like the cracks above him, memories and sensations slip in. 

His hip, where Bill grabbed him. The feel of a five o’clock shadow on his jaw. Marijuana smoke rasping his lungs. 

How absolutely wrong-footed he’d been the entire night, playing catch up again and again. He didn’t like feeling so on-edge. He didn’t like playing offense all night. 

He needs to be on the defense. Prepared and fortified against Bill. He’s not actually a giant pansy. He’s an agent and a grown man and he has gone undercover enough times to keep it together. 

But, here in his own mind, he can afford to be honest. He liked kissing Bill. Whether it’s about the man or the gender, Holden did enjoy it. It needs further processing that he can’t handle at the moment. 

He sits up with a lurch and goes to the dining table where they have the Tench files. 

Bill Tench is a bloodthirsty, hardened criminal on paper. Prostitution, drugs, possible homicides. He’s a monster on paper. 

It doesn’t fit with the man he saw on the roof. It doesn’t fit with the man who held his hand and kissed him.

But evidence doesn’t lie and Holden needs to be ready for it. He’s seen sociopaths and pathological liars before. Bill must hide his jagged edges under intelligence. Under charm and blue eyes. 

So, he plays into charm. He can’t run again. Bill is his Prince Charming from here-on-out. Bill is someone he needs to be around and he’s not afraid to be blatant about his admiration. 

He’ll apologize, make nice and work his way into Bill’s life. If Bill is like any of the other kingpins Holden’s encountered, the ego stroking will make him blind. 

Holden can’t play at coy, this is obvious. But he can play obsessed. And any real narcissist will eat that up with a spoon.

***

She’s got him in some new, terrible outfit tonight. He’s too keyed up to even be bothered by the clothes. Walsh has dressed herself in something with lots of fur and she’s stuck white star stickers under her eyes. 

The White Party is at a huge mansion in downtown and they take a cab, knowing parking will be atrocious. The mansion is huge, sprawling up a hill and there is a crowd of gorgeous people milling around the gardens out front. 

“Hi, Bea and Harry? We should be on the list,” She says to the bouncer, smoothing her hands over her furry vest. 

“Go on in,” the bouncer says, checking something off his list. “Mr. Tench asked for you guys to find him right away.”

“Thanks,” Walsh says and pops a piece of gum in her mouth. They walk through the doors, and she gestures the pack towards him. “Do you want?”

“Sure,” he says and takes a piece. It does soothe his nerves a little, chomping on the gum, and he trails behind her as she finds out where Bill and his group is. 

They’re in the main sitting parlour, pristinely dressed amongst a backdrop of red velvet furniture and polished mahogany. Bill looks up at them from a chair by the fireplace and and freezes almost imperceptibly. 

“Well, look who it is,” Walsh’s mark, the bodyguard, says. He stands and holds his arms out for a hug. She prances over and hops up in his arms, kissing his cheek with a loud smack. “How’s it buzzing, Bumble Bea?”

Walsh laughs brightly but Holden knows she’s seething inside. Walsh hates puns. His eyes flicker back towards Bill.

Bill is watching him steadily, taking a drag from his cigarette. He raises his eyebrows and gestures for Holden to approach. 

Holden crosses the room, eyes only on Tench and he tries to ignore anyone else in the room. He’s here to be a besotted fool. That’s it. 

“I really didn’t expect to see you,” Bill says and crosses his ankle over his knee. 

“I wasn’t going to come,” Holden says. He plays for contrite but has a feeling he comes across more terrified. “I’m sorry about last time. I was—Well. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t let people burn me twice, Harry,” Bill says conversationally. “Hell, I don’t let most people burn me once.”

“What does that mean?” Holden asks, crossing his arms. His heart beats a little faster.

“It means I don’t want to fuck around,” Bill says. “I like you, kid. But I don’t have time to chase after someone who doesn’t know what they want.”

“I get that,” Holden says and licks his lips. He glances to the side and sees Walsh watching him carefully. He buckles down and turns back to Bill. “But I do know what I want. I won’t run again.”

“I’m sure you think you mean that,” Bill says and sighs.

“No,” Holden says and takes a deep breath. “I mean it. I haven’t wanted anything like I want this. Like I want you.”

Holden drops to a crouch, getting below eye level with Bill. Holden’s white leather pants creak in protest. 

“Well, damn, altar boy,” Bill laughs, sitting forward and settles a hand on Holden’s cheek. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I won’t run,” Holden says, looking up into the fine-lined face of the criminal mastermind known as Bill Tench. “Not unless you tell me to.” 

Bill doesn’t say anything, just reaches down to grasp Holden’s jaw and presses a kiss to his mouth. It’s a slow, chaste kiss and Holden can’t help the shaky breath that rattles out of him. Bill pulls back enough to run a thumb over Holden’s bottom lip. 

“As much as I enjoyed your heartfelt declaration, this party is as much for business as it is for pleasure,” Bill says and he helps Holden stand. “Take your friend and grab a drink and some party favors. I’ll send one of my men for you when I’m done with business.”

“Not a problem,” Holden says, looking at Bill through his eyelashes like he’s seen Walsh do to men. He collects Walsh and basically frog-marches her out into the main area of the mansion. 

“I have a new appreciation for your dedication to the cause, Ford,” she whispers to him, linking her arm in his. “When push comes to shove, huh?”

“Can we talk about anything else?” Holden asks and grabs a glass from the nearest waiter. “Like what ‘business’ they’re up to in there?”

“It could be anything,” Walsh says and pulls them down onto an overstuffed loveseat that’s just in the right angle that they can see who goes in and out of Tench’s sitting room. She swings her legs into his lap so they can continue their private conversation. “We know it’s harvest season for marijuana. Maybe there’s going to be a big drop? And we got that report—“

“That’s right. The acid tab bust. Could be doing damage control,” Holden whispers and they quiet down when a man in a literal cape heads into the sitting room, bodyguards trailing behind. 

“Well,” Walsh starts. “That guy deals drugs.”

“That guy deals drugs,” Holden confirms and they settle in for surveillance.

Four more groups enter and exit the sitting room before Walsh’s bodyguard comes out to retrieve them. 

“Come on, dollies,” he says and offers his arm to Walsh. She takes it, throwing her mane of blonde curls over her shoulder and Holden trails behind them. 

Bill is standing now, one arm on the mantle, in a deep conversation with Calvin Page. Calvin is a con artist, fresh from the clink on charges of possession and intent to sell. Bill speaks more softly as Holden approaches, wrapping up his conversation quickly, and turns to smile at him. 

“Harry,” he says and gestures for Holden to come closer. When he’s in reach, he pulls Holden in with an arm around his waist. “Meet my right hand guy. This is Cal.”

“Hi,” Holden says and reaches out to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“It’s a pleasure, to be honest,” Cal says and shakes Holden’s hand warmly. “Bill doesn’t usually bring people around us boys. It’s nice to know something is ticking in that chest of his.”

“Har-har,” Bill says and squeezes Holden. “Take a lap, Cal. If the Machado kids snuck in, run them off.”

“You got it, boss,” Cal says and leaves them by the fire. 

“Can I take you upstairs?” Bill asks, turning so he’s face to face with Holden. He must see something in Holden’s face that he doesn’t like because he frowns. “I’m not going to ravish you the second we’re alone. We just need to have a conversation.”

“Of course,” Holden says, sweat beginning to form on his spine. “Lead the way.”

Bill leads him to a tapestry on the wall beside them. He pulls it aside to reveal a doorway and a set of stairs. 

“Only way into my quarters,” he says and gestures for Holden to go first. He keeps a hand on Holden’s back up the flight of stairs and then leads him to the left with two fingers tucked into Holden’s belt loop. 

“You take your privacy pretty seriously,” Holden says, mentally mapping out a blueprint. 

“It’s part of what I want to discuss,” Bill says and opens a door to an opulent bedroom. Holden wishes he still had gum to chew. 

“You’re making it all so mysterious,” Holden says, nervously smiling. He sits on the bed at Bill’s motion and wishes he had his tie on to fidget with. 

“Look, you’re smart, Harry,” Bill says, pouring two whiskeys from the mini-bar in the corner. He has his back to Holden. It doesn’t make Holden feel any better. “You know that I’m dangerous. You said as much. And I’m sure you have some theories about what makes me dangerous. And I’ve had the club bunnies sniffing after my money before and I know you aren’t doing that. And I know you aren’t an easy lay.”

“Well—,” Holden says but Bill turns back and holds up a hand. 

“Let me finish,” he says and Holden folds his hands in his lap. “My point is that you’re sitting here on my bed despite all of that. The way I figure it, you’ve either got a deathwish or you’re wired.”

“That’s not—,” Holden starts and then he stops. “I’m not wired.”

“Prove it,” Bill snaps and Holden exhales through his nose. He reaches down, pulls his filmy, chiffon v-neck over his head and lets it slip on to the floor. He’s playing a part. 

He inhales. 

Kicks off his loafers and unbuttons the top two buttons of his pants and shimmies them down his hips. He’s wearing his own yellow y-fronts and he puts his hands on his hips. 

Tench has watched him carefully the whole time and he crosses the room to hand Holden a whiskey glass. Holden drains it, needing something to soothe his nerves. He looks up at Bill after he finishes and drops his glass onto the carpet. 

“What now?” He asks, imagining all the ways Bill could put him down. 

“Now, you tell me what you’re doing here,” Bill says and curls his free hand over the side of Holden’s neck. His thumb braces on the angle of Holden’s jaw, pushing Holden’s chin up. “And if you tell the truth, I don’t have to hurt you, Agent Ford.”

Ice floods Holden’s stomach and he can’t help but flinch. He’s been played like a fiddle all night. And now he’s down to his underpants and at Bill’s mercy. 

“Yeah. I’m on to you,” Bill says and he drops his own glass to bracket Holden’s throat with his hands. “And I’m more impressed than mad, to be frank. You wore the hell out of those leather pants.”

“Are you going to kill me?” Holden asks, like an idiot. 

“Actually, no,” Bill says and walks Holden back by the neck until his knees hit the bed and falls. Bill smooths his hands down over Holden’s neck and down to grasp his shoulders. “I was going to. But then I thought about that little noise you made after I kissed you. And the way you shivered under my fingers.”

“So, you’re just going to humiliate me?” Holden asks steadily, ignoring the angry flush creeping up his neck. 

“If you’d like,” Bill says, raising his eyebrows. “You said earlier you wouldn’t run. So, don’t run. The boys are ready for you down there and they have instructions to take you out if you come busting through there without me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Holden says and Bill takes a step back, tucks his hands into his pockets. Holden has found himself returning to a strangely calm place. “Where do we go from here?”

“Up to you, Agent Ford. I do have to ask though—Are you the FBI’s only queer honeypot? Do they just trot you out when Agent Walsh fails?” Bill asks and then he laughs a little. “Yeah. I’ve got Walsh on my radar too. People don’t get to burn me twice, Holden.”

Holden’s stomach twists then, at Bill’s mouth curling around his name and the threat to Walsh and it all hits him. He’s got to walk out of this room alive. 

“Look. We have a rendezvous we have to make at three am. If we aren’t back, the full force of the bureau will come down on this place like a hammer,” Holden says, calling up his hostage negotiating knowledge. “There’s a way we can all walk away happy.”

“Oh, is there?” Bill asks, smiling jovially. “Tell me how.”

“You’re the one in charge,” Holden volleys back. “Tell me how I can make you happy.”

“I want you to feed incorrect information to your agency,” Bill says and lets that land. “Not all the time. Hell, I’ll let you bust some of my bottom feeders. I’ll throw you a big fish every once in awhile. But I’m making moves right now, Holden. And I need breathing room to pull them off.”

“You want me to betray my country? What’s stopping me from going to my superiors immediately and turning you over?” Holden asks, dreading the answer. 

“You’re a smart guy,” Bill says and gestures widely. “You know I’ve got something on you. You know that I wouldn’t be pulling this if I didn’t know I could keep you in line.” 

“My family?” Holden asks, voice steady over his thready heartbeat. 

“I don’t think I’m going to tell you right now,” Bill says. “So, what do you think? Do we have an agreement?”

“I don’t have a choice,” Holden says. 

“There is always a choice,” Bill answers. “I think this is going to be good for us. I’ll let you leave now. But you need to be here tomorrow night. 8 o’clock.”

“Can I get dressed first?” Holden asks, unable to keep himself completely polite, and Bill smiles from his seat. 

“Sure. But I have to do one more thing,” he says and stands. He crosses back to Holden and pulls his to standing by his upper arms. Bill tilts Holden’s chin up and to the side and presses his mouth against the lines of Holden’s throat. He kisses the spot, so very softly, and then sucks. 

A hickey. 

Holden fists his hands, rage sinking through him and he grits his teeth to keep from decking Bill and losing this tenuous grasp he has on the situation. 

Bill pulls back, wipes a thumb over his own mouth and pats Holden on the shoulder. 

“I’ll see you downstairs,” Bill says and then he turns and walks out of the room. 

Holden dresses woodenly, mind reeling. What could Bill have on him? He knows Bill must have contingencies in place.

He can’t tell Walsh. Not yet. Not until he can be sure that he knows Bill’s plan.

He heads down the stairs, certain he’s going to come out to ten guns pointed at him and Walsh dead on the carpet. 

But they aren’t and she isn’t. She’s talking to Cal now, chirping away and playing the perfect party girl. Holden doesn’t look at Bill on his throne and he ignores the smirks a few of his men send to his hickey. He walks over to Walsh and puts a hand on her shoulder. 

“Hey, Harry,” she says and her eyes dart from his face to his hickey and back again. “Ready to skedaddle?”

“That’s quite a bug bite you got there,” Cal says, eyebrows up. He knows. They all probably know. 

“Let’s go,” Holden says curtly and Walsh says her good-byes. Holden turns and looks at Bill before he leaves. Bill is watching him from the chair, a smug smile curved over his face. 

He waves good-bye to Holden. 


	2. Chapter 2

Walsh hints at what she thinks went on. Holden doesn’t confirm or deny but assumes his silence is damning enough. Turner, his supervising agent, doesn’t say much of anything once he spots the hickey high up on Holden’s throat. 

The next night, Holden feels his stomach turning with trepidation as he walks up the ornate path back into the mansion. He’s dressed plainly in a polo and cords. He rings the doorbell after a few tense moments of pacing. 

He’s already conceived and discarded a dozen possible rebellions. The bottom line is that Bill has something over him. Something that makes him cocky enough to extort a federal agent. And he’s got contacts in the bureau or he wouldn’t know Holden and Walsh’s identities. 

Holden can’t risk missing any contingency plans Bill has in place. 

The door opens a moment later. It’s one of Bill’s goons, once Holden hasn’t learned the name of. 

“Hey, boss is in the dining room,” the goon says and Holden pinches his mouth shut and stalks in the direction he thinks he remembers the dining room is. He’s seething, mad he’s been outfoxed and backed into a corner. 

“Harry,” Bill says warmly when he enters the dining room. “So glad you could make it.”

Bill’s at the head of the table. Calvin, his right hand, is sitting at the table as well. There’s two more of Bill’s men’s leaning in the corner, talking quietly and Holden hesitates in the doorway. 

“Bill,” he says finally and wonders how far away Bill will allow him to sit. “Where do you want me?”

“Right here,” Bill says and pats the corner to his right. It’s a massive table and Holden is relieved he’s going to be a few feet away. His stomach sinks a little when Bill catches his wrist once he’s in arms reach. He pulls Holden around the table and then down into his lap. 

Holden wants to bite him in the face. 

“You can sit in my lap or on the table,” Bill says into his ear and Holden exhales slowly through his nose. “I want you next to me.”

“The table, then,” Holden says tersely and Bill helps him back out of his lap. Feeling Bill’s iron strength does little for Holden’s nerves. He hefts himself up on the table and sits with his feet dangling off. 

Bill reaches down and pulls Holden’s feet into his lap. He takes off both shoes and sets them on the opposite side of the table. “You don’t need these. Cal, go ahead and put these away.” 

“It’s not enough to treat me like a trophy? You need to take my shoes?” Holden asks, sounding more calm than he feels. He takes his eyes off Bill long enough to watch Cal head out the door, the other men follow him. It’s just Bill and Holden now. 

“I think I’m being pretty forgiving. I’m letting you keep the rest of your clothes on,” Bill says and pats Holden’s leg. “You should be thanking me.”

“What exactly am I doing here?” Holden asks instead, moving his leg away and crossing his arms. 

“You are here to discuss our terms,” Bill says and sits back. “But first, dinner.”

“I don’t understand the theatrics,” Holden says and Bill watches him carefully. “Why the staging? Who is it for?”

“Surely, you can figure that out,” Bill says and picks up his whiskey glass. Holden remains silent. “I was in the war. I mentioned that. I also went through a good deal of training with the bureau. Setting the stage is the most important part of any meeting with an enemy. You have to have the upper hand in every conceivable way. It’s essential.”

“Wouldn’t that only work if I was unaware? If it was subconscious?”

“In ten minutes, we can reassess who has the upper hand,” Bill says like a promise and Holden’s heartbeat flares. “Whether or not it’s subconscious—Doesn’t matter. I learned that over the years. When a man is bent backwards over a barrel with a knife at his femoral artery, Holden, I can assure you he understands who has the upper hand.”

“You’re going to torture me,” Holden asks, voice still. Flashes of the few classes he’s had on resisting torture flicker through his mind and he presses his trembling fingers more firmly against his leg. 

“I’m not going to hurt you unless you put me in a position where I have no other choice. This can be a pleasant relationship. What was it you said?” Bill asks, face placid. “There is a way we can both walk away happy.”

A man dressed in a plain black suit enters then with a tray. He sets a handful of silver serving dishes on the table and refills Bill’s whiskey before he leaves. 

“Is Calvin going to join us?” Holden asks and Bill shakes his head. 

“Our conversation is best kept between us,” Bill says and lifts the lid off the largest serving tray. Steak strips and fingerling potatoes. He serves some to Holden and himself and sits back in his seat. 

“Do all of your men know who I am?” Holden asks, turning to face Bill. He bends one knee and tucks his ankle under the other, trying to get comfortable on the hard walnut table. Bill shakes his head. 

“Cal knows you’re lying about who you are. He believes you’re working for the Russians,” Bill says and chews a bite of steak. “I let him continue in that belief. The others are clueless.” 

“The Russians? Are they moving in on your territory?” Holden asks, curious despite himself. 

“Other way around,” Bill says and nudges Holden’s plate closer. “Eat.”

Holden reaches for a fork from behind him but stills when Bill puts a hand on his knee. 

“No fork,” Bill says and Holden’s mouth drops. “Use your fingers.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Holden says. “Are you afraid I’m going to dispatch you with a fork?”

“Eat,” Bill says and takes another bite of steak. “I don’t want to say it again.”

Holden begrudgingly picks up a slice of steak with his bare fingers, trying not to drip anything on to his pants. He presses it in his mouth, stomach turning, and Bill makes a pleased face at him. 

“What  _ is _ your master plan?” Holden asks and Bill is quiet for a moment. 

“I’m correcting something,” Bill says finally, staring at some place beyond the dining room. “Something that should never have happened.”

“What happened?”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Bill says, returning to the present, and takes a drink of whiskey. “You aren’t eating.”

“I don’t want to eat,” Holden says and Bill flicks a disinterested look at him. 

“Here’s the situation,” Bill says. “I’m not interested in what you do or do not want. I say eat, you say how much. I say jump--Well. You can tell where I’m going with this.”

“Fine,” Holden says. “Where should I start?”

“Eat your steak,” Bill answers and resumes eating his own. “You’re going to bust one of my runners. He deals coke. Named Arnold Sweeney. He deals around fourth and C. I’ll set him up, you knock him down.”

Holden pauses, steak in his mouth, and considers Bill’s words. That is progress. But—

“Sweeney deals for you and the Russians. He’s double-timing,” Holden says, swallowing his food. “You’re using the FBI like—like a dog on a leash.”

“And?” Bill asks, smugly. 

“Who else?” Holden asks and Bill finishes chewing before he answers. 

“We start with Arnie,” Bill says. “If that goes well, I’ll give you a pimp in a few weeks.”

“I need something big, sooner than later,” Holden hedges and sucks steak juice off his finger. Bill watches his mouth move and Holden feels a curl of arousal in his belly. He moves passed it as quickly as he can. 

“A raid,” Bill says, eyes dragging from Holden’s mouth to his eyes. “I have a yacht party I’m attending in Miami in a few weeks. One of my men—he’s got a shipment of girls coming up from Cuba. I’ll give you everyone on the boat.”

“You’ll be arrested,” Holden says and Bill nods. 

“I’ll be clean,” Bill says. “You’re gonna keep me looking clean.”

“When does it end?” Holden asks. “Am I going to be your double agent until one of us dies?”

“No,” Bill says simply. “If all goes to plan—a few months.”

“A few months,” Holden says. “Then we both walk away happy?”

“That’s the plan,” Bill says and whistles loudly, like he’s calling for a dog. “Tell me, Holden. Who has the upper hand now?”

Before Holden can answer, Cal comes back in the room and drops Holden’s shoes on the ground beside him. Cal leaves again without a word just as Bill finishes up the last of his food. 

Holden puts on his shoes. 

***

Holden sets up Sweeney easy as pie. The arrest goes smoothly and Walsh claps him on the shoulder when they get the call over the radio. 

“Strong start,” she says and he grimaces. “Start with the pawns. Work your way up to taking down the king.”

“Good game, Ford,” Turner says and Holden locks himself in the bathroom. He’s certain one of them is on to him. It was too easy. 

Holden and Walsh go back to the club a few nights later. The bartender hands them each an ice bucket on sight and they’re instructed to carry it back to the VIP section. Holden is beyond annoyed. All of his years of education and training diminished to being a busboy. 

He takes a perverse satisfaction in placing one icy hand on the back of Bill’s neck when he settles into his lap. 

Bill does not react as expected. 

“Be careful where you put those,” Bill says. He smiles with teeth and pulls Holden more firmly into his lap. “We might have to make it an early night.”

Holden knows Bill is messing with him but he still folds his hands on his own stomach instinctively. 

“Be careful, boss,” Calvin says from around the joint poking out of his mouth. “Don’t wanna embarrass the altar boy.”

“He’s a tough guy,” Bill says and rubs his thumb over the sensitive skin under the hem of Holden’s shorts. Holden shivers against his will and Bill leans in close to whisper his next words into Holden's ear. “Shy on the outside. But there’s more to you. I can see it in your eyes. Like standing next to a sun.”

Holden is beyond angry with himself for the curl of arousal he feels in the pit of his stomach. Bill’s breath is warm on his ear and his hand is so gentle on his inner thigh. Holden’s shorts are too tight for any of this. 

“Let’s go to the roof,” Bill says and Holden’s breath catches. 

“Are you going to get fresh?” Holden asks, half-heartedly playing at flirting for the group of thugs. Bill is still much too close to him. 

“That’s not something you need to worry about,” Bill says, too much honesty in his voice and Holden swallows. 

They take their leave to minor notice, Holden makes eye contact with Walsh on his way into the hallway. 

“You might as well have said ‘here, boy’,” Holden says as soon as they walk through the door to the roof. “I’m surprised you haven’t bought a collar for me.”

Bill ignores him in favor of lighting a cigarette. He walks over to the ledge and sits on it, straddling it again. Holden is cold in his shorts and t-shirt. He’s got a stupid cowboy hat on and Walsh found him red cowboy boots somewhere. They pinch his toes. 

“I am...frustrated. I’m still dressed up like a show pony and I don’t need to be,” Holden continues. “I’m frustrated that you’re so nonchalant about all of this.”

“Well,” Bill says finally. “I like your show pony outfit.”

“My feet hurt. And I’m cold,” Holden continues, gesturing into the night. “And you’re the most frustrating person I’ve ever met.”

“Come here,” Bill says and puts his cigarette in his mouth. He waves a hand at Holden. “Come on.”

Mutinously, Holden crosses the roof. 

“Sit down,” Bill says, unbuttoning his jacket. Holden sits, knees together and back slumped. Bill shrugs off his jacket and lays it over Holden’s legs. “Take off your shoes.”

“What?”

“Take them off,” Bill says again. He reaches over and pulls the hat from Holden’s head. Under it, Walsh had rinsed the pomade from Holden’s hair and it’s curled from the sweat on his head. Bill tosses the hat over the side of the building. 

It spirals in the breeze on its descent and lands on the hood of a cream Buick. 

“Oh...my God,” Holden says in disbelief. He’s glad to be rid of the hat, certainly. But Bill’s presumptuous attitude makes him angrier. “You can’t just throw my hat.”

“Number one, that’s not your hat. That’s the Bureau’s hat,” Bill says. He’s looking at Holden’s hair and Holden attempts to flatten it with a swipe of his palm. Bill catches his hand and holds it. Holden does  _ not  _ remember the last time they were up here. Nor does he remember the last time Bill held his hand. “Number two. You look much better without the fucking thing.”

“Are you going to throw my shoes off the roof too?”

“No,” Bill says and takes a drag off his cigarette with his free hand. “I like the shoes.”

The concrete edge is scraping the backs of Holden’s legs and the silky lining of Bill’s jacket is distracting. He wants to stand but he is cold, in all honesty. The jacket is finally warm. 

“If I take off the shoes, my feet will be cold,” Holden says finally and tucks his hands under the jacket. “I’d rather wear uncomfortable shoes then have cold feet.”

“That’s very practical of you,” Bill says in a vaguely mocking tone. “Shall we go back inside?”

“Walsh is trying to get me to dance,” Holden says and looks out over the city. He hates the idea of dancing. “I think I’ve suffered enough indignities tonight.”

Bill laughs at that, exhaling wispy plumes of smoke. 

Holden darts a glance at him, mouth parting to speak, but he hesitates. Bill seems different up here. At peace. Cordial. 

Holden wonders why being on the roof brings out this gentler side. Maybe the stars? Or the clear air?

Maybe Bill feels more comfortable manipulating one on one. 

“You seem—,” Holden starts and he pauses. “I’ve been on this roof with you twice. And both times you’ve been charming and kind. You don’t seem like a man who could commit a homicide.”

Bill is quiet for a long moment. 

“I’m wondering how you ended up in this lifestyle,” Holden says and Bill looks at him. Holden’s train of thought stutters. “You seem like a good man.”

“Holden, just—Whatever your files say? To  _ some _ degree, it’s all the truth,” Bill says and flicks his cigarette over the roof. “I’m not going to let you out of this deal because I like your curly little hair.”

“I wasn’t angling,” Holden says, as calmly as possible. He can tell he’s pushed it. “I was just—curious.”

“Well, Holden, I’m curious as to how you have zero—,” it’s punctuated by Bill lighting another cigarette. “—self-preservation skills. Do you not understand that I have you under my thumb? That you need to tread lightly around me? How clear do I have to be?” 

“You’ve been clear,” Holden replies. He emphatically doesn’t want to be using Bill’s jacket anymore. He begins to gather it off his lap, only for Bill to put a hand on his arm. 

“Keep it,” Bill says, not looking at him. “It’s cold tonight.” 

Holden weighs his pride against his cold legs. His legs win. He keeps his eyes on his lap, turning and returning the ever-changing disposition of Bill Tench.

“Fine.”

Bill looks at him then, Holden can see the planes of Bill’s face turned towards him his peripheral.

They don’t say anything for a long time. 

Holden tilts his face up. Meets Bill’s eyes. They’re still so very blue. He’s still handsome. 

Holden wishes he didn’t think so. 

Bill’s lips part, like he’s going to say something, but he stays quiet. Then he looks away, back into the night. 

Holden releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He memorizes the sharp turn of Bill’s jaw and the lines of his shoulders. His fingers around the cigarette. He’s sharp, now. Sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued, a razor-cut man against the background of purple-bruised sky. 

***

Friday morning finds him at a local diner, puzzling through a breakfast platter, when Cal walks up to his table. He has a brief trill of alarm, he’s dressed casually in a dress shirt and slacks and not at all like a club bunny. 

“Hey, Harry,” Cal says and Holden sighs heavily. He’s been avoiding his own team members all night. He’s exhausted and angry and at the end of his temper. Cal is the last person he wants to see. 

“What do you want?” Holden asks, tearing a piece from his croissant. 

“Boss wants to see you,” Cal says and he crosses his arms. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t get to finish my breakfast?” Holden asks, pushing back. It’s one thing for Bill to command him. It’s quite another for some stooge to tell him what to do. 

“You can finish your breakfast in the car,” Cal says and Holden considers. 

“I think I’ll finish here,” Holden says and leans back in his seat, raises his eyebrows. 

“I’m not going to twist your ear and drag you out of here,” Cal says. “The Boss can deal with your disobedience.”

Holden doesn’t reply, takes a sip of coffee and thinks hard. Is Bill going to punish him for not jumping in the car? He was very clear at dinner that Holden is supposed to listen to him. Holden’s pride rankles at the concept of being completely under the control of a criminal. 

He finishes his food and takes his time getting a coffee refill. 

Holden walks straight for the door next, heading for the car he knows to be Cal’s. He’s being a dick, kind of. He only knows which car is Cal’s because of recon. But he can let Cal sweat a little, let him wonder how Holden knows. 

It’s a black convertible, slick and chrome, with the top down and Holden briefly contemplates hopping over the door and getting his footprints on the seat. He is unsure he could do it without tripping and decides to open the car door instead. 

Calvin is jogging to catch up, scowling, and Holden taps a sarcastic finger against his watch. 

It doesn’t take long for Holden to realize something is wrong. Instead of driving towards the mansion, Calvin is driving out of town. 

“Where are we going?” Holden asks and Calvin smiles meanly. 

“Airport,” he says and Holden inhales carefully. “Boss wants to take you on a little trip.”

Holden tried to hide his reaction, his sheer panic at the realization he’s probably going to be killed. Should he try and take Calvin out now? Or wait until they’re all on the plane? Surely Bill won’t shoot him inside of a moving airplane—

“Relax, kitten,” Cal says, chuckling. He proffers a handkerchief to Holden. “I can see your sweat from here. There’s a big drop coming into town. You’re an alibi.”

Holden takes the handkerchief, dabs it over his forehead and neck. He keeps it pressed to the back of his neck and purses his lips. 

“I don’t have any luggage,” he says and Cal nods in agreement. 

“No,” he says. “I guess you don’t.”

Holden quiets down then, crosses his arms and leans against the passenger door. The wind ruffles through his hair and he fights the urge to smash it down against his head. 

They drive right into the airport track and up to a small, personal plane. The door is open, a dark spot on the gleaming white plane, and trepidation filters into Holden’s stomach. 

“See you on the other side,  _ Harry _ ,” Cal says sarcastically and Holden climbs out of the car and heads towards the stairs to the plane. 

One of Bill’s men follows him from the car and up the stairs and Holden’s eyes need a moment to adjust from the sunshine to the warm, cozy lighting inside the plane’s cabin. 

“You’re late,” Bill says from a seat in the back and Holden gives in to his need to mess with his hair. “I don’t like being kept waiting.”

“I’m sorry,” Holden says and jerks into motion. He walks over to Bill and stops short, hands in pockets. 

“How sorry?” Bill asks and Holden flushes down to his chest. 

“Very,” he offers and, with a glance at the two bodyguards behind Bill, he sits carefully across Bill’s thighs. Bill slides a hand over the small of Holden’s back and sets his other on Holden’s knees. He’s got a cigarette hanging from his fingers. 

“Get us in the air,” Bill tosses over his shoulder and both bodyguards head towards the cockpit. A stewardess closes the door to the outside and then returns to the small area beside the cockpit. 

“I need to contact my people,” Holden says in Bill’s ear and Bill nods. 

“When we land,” Bill murmurs in return and he leans back in his seat. 

“Where are we landing?” Holden asks and Bill takes a slow drag off his cigarette before answering. 

“New York City,” Bill says and pats Holden’s hip. “Weekend trip. You’ll be back to your handlers by Sunday evening.”

“Why New York City? What’s there?”

“It’s what isn’t there that’s important,” Bill says. “I need to be in another area code tomorrow night.”

“What’s goingto happen?” Holden asks, crossing his arms. 

“I’ll tell you after,” Bill says. “You can report on it. But you don’t need to be blowing any whistles beforehand.” 

“Is Walsh safe?”

“Your little friend is fine. All hands are on deck right now so there’s no one to play with her,” Bill says. “Enjoy the flight. Have a drink.”

Holden settles more firmly into Bill’s lap and bites down the acrid taste of fear. 

***

They take a cab from the airport to the hotel. The hotel is surprisingly plain, subtle even, but that is only on the outside. 

The inside of the hotel is artfully arranged with Victorian furniture and decor, but there is something strange about the design. 

Oil portraits of women with ball-gags and men in leather line the halls. There are antique riding crops and strap-on sex toys displayed in glass cases in the lobby. Their room keychain has the words  _ Eden’s Apple Inn  _ embossed on a mini-paddle. 

Bill is unruffled, keeping Holden close to his side with a possessive arm. They take a cage elevator up to the penthouse and Holden keeps as cool as he can. He knew Bill was a deviant, but not to this extent. 

S&M was something he covered for less than one class at the bureau. It had been gone over rapidly and then never mentioned again. 

Inside the penthouse, the twisted Victorian theme continues. There’s a sitting area first off that’s attached to a small kitchenette. A bathroom. A door that leads to the only bedroom. 

Inside the bedroom is overwhelming. There is an array of leather tools on one wall and what looks like a carpenter’s horse covered in pads in the center of the room. There’s a giant mirror above the bed and straps dangling neatly from each post of the bed. 

Holden feels himself starting to sweat again. 

“Go patrol,” Bill tells his men. “When you’ve cleared the building, set up camp in the living room. Send for food.”

The two men leave and Bill turns to Holden with an unbearably placid expression. 

“Can I call now?” Holden asks, feeling vulnerable in his slacks and loafers. 

“Sure,” Bill says. “Breathe a word of why we left and I’m gonna cut off a finger.”

Holden is steeled by this, the opposite of what Bill has probably intended. His team is smart. They’ll be listening for codes. 

He dials the safe house, hiding the number he dials with his body and the line picks up almost immediately. 

“Hello?” Walsh asks, casual to anyone who didn’t know her. Holden can hear the tension in her voice. 

“Hey, Bea,” he says and she sighs from relief. 

“Where have you been?” She hisses. . 

“Bill swept me away for a romantic get away,” Holden says and she sucks in a breath. “It was a huge surprise.”

“Are you safe?”

“It’s a great hotel,” Holden says. “I have almost everything I need.”

“Unarmed?”

“You know it,” Holden says, faux-bright. 

“Will you be back?”

“Sunday night,” Holden says. He glances at Bill who is staring him down. “I’ll be back Sunday night. We can do dinner at  _ Oriole _ , I know you like their prawns. And at least we don’t have to try and make reservations for a Saturday night.” 

“Understood. Be careful,” Walsh says. “Be careful. Please.”

“I’ll see you then,” Holden says and swallows against the nerves in his throat. “Bye.”

“Good-bye,” Walsh says solemnly and Holden ends the call. 

“You don’t know when to stop,” Bill says and flops back onto the bed. He tilts his broad chin back, arms outstretched to reveal his twin pistols, and exhales loudly. “I really should cut off a finger for trying to get your clues in.”

“You won’t,” Holden says and begins mentally cataloging the room for makeshift weapons. “I don’t think. You seem reasonable.”

“I seem reasonable. You’re a mouthy little prick,” Bill says, eyes closed. “No one who matters will be taken out tomorrow night. You can rest easy. I can send one of the boys with you to go shopping or something tomorrow to keep your mind busy.”

“What will you be doing?” Holden asks and crosses the room to kneel before the trunk at the foot of the bed. He opens it. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Bill asks and when Holden looks up at him, he’s leaned over on one elbow and watching Holden. 

“There are...items in here. That are...,” Holden says, voice drifting off and pulls a pen from his breast pocket to poke the nest of silicon sex toys. 

“Unnerving? I forget that you’re an altar boy,” Bill says and sits up enough to peer over the lid of the trunk. “Those aren’t even the wildest things in the room. I don’t suppose you looked in the bag Cal packed for you.”

“He failed to mention any bag,” Holden says and Bill snorts. 

“I encourage you to take a look,” Bill says and gestures towards a pastel pink suitcase. Holden sighs. He looks up at Bill, curiosity burning a hole in his chest. 

“Do you really--,” Holden cuts himself off. 

“Do I what?” Bill asks and leans back. He looks positively rakish. It’s also unnerving. “Just ask, Holden.” 

“Do you really like striking romantic partners? And tying them up?” 

Holden immediately wishes he could call back his words. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know the answer. 

“Have you considered the possibility that I like being struck or tied up?” Bill asks and Holden’s brain short-circuits. 

Flashes of leather straps over Bill’s barrel chest and across his meaty thighs filter through Holden’s head. He’s seen photo evidence during the brief S&M class of a caning a female victim had received and he applies those welts mentally to Bill’s ass. 

“Oh,” he says, unintelligently. “I hadn’t.”

“Doesn’t the Bureau encourage out of the box thinking?” Bill asks and Holden shakes his head ruefully. 

“You’d think so,” Holden says. “But I get push-back. New ideas aren’t readily received.”

“Archaic solutions for modern problems. The FBI isn’t equipped to deal with the new brand of crime. People who peddle drugs and sex and murder. They’re still trying to bust bandits out of horse-drawn carriages,” Bill says. “The FBI is a pack of good ol’ boys, Holden. And they aren’t equipped for this new monster America has produced.” 

“The FBI still puts away a lot of criminals, Bill,” Holden argues. “The process is working. The techniques are classic for a reason. They get results. Some amendments are needed, sure, but they aren’t some doddering geriatrics.” 

“I think I’m beginning to understand why you were put on my case,” Bill says and he meets Holden’s eyes readily. “You’re underappreciated. This is an operation for a dipshit--prancing around in shorts and knee-highs. I can tell you’re smart, Holden. Can they?”

“ _ Please  _ stop saying my name like we’re friends,” Holden snaps. He flushes immediately. He’s lost his cool. Bill looks impassive. “I’m sorry.”

“That was the most interesting thing you’ve done since I met you,” Bill says, still meeting Holden’s gaze. “I see you, Holden. I see the fire. And the ambition. And most important of all, I see the intelligence.”

“What is this? Are you trying to butter me up?”

Bill sits up on the bed and then he stands. He walks over, closes the trunk lid and sits on it. Holden is still on the floor, feet under him. 

“You’re what we call a blue-flamer, Holden,” he says and reaches out to grab Holden’s jaw. Holden screws up his face as Bill cranks his head up. “Do you know what that means?”

“No,” Holden says and pulls back a little. Bill presses his fingers under Holden’s jaws until his mouth falls open. It hurts. 

“Y ou're so eager to do good, you have a big blue flame shooting out of your asshole,” Bill says and leans in a little bit. “But you’re stuck. You can do so much more good by my side.”

“‘Good’ and ‘your side’ are mutually exclusive,” Holden says and licks his lips. Bill’s so close. The muted lights of the bedroom throw Bill into a darkness too similar to that night on the roof. “You’re a murderer. A pimp. A dealer. All the things that you just said about America-- you’re right in the middle.”

“I want to kiss you,” Bill says, mirroring Holden’s thoughts. His voice turns dry. “You, the last saint in America.” 

“You—I—,” Holden says in return and Bill closes the inches between them. His mouth is a dry press, his hand a warm band across Holden’s throat. Holden’s eyes close and he surges up, mouth opening against Bill’s. 

Bill is a thorough kisser, his tongue slides slick and hot against Holden’s and Holden pulls back, shaking his head. 

“Stop,” he says and Bill lets him go. Holden stands, hand to mouth, and crosses to the furthest corner. He bumps into the padded-horse-thing and folds his arms with his back to Bill. 

“I know who you are tonight, Holden,” Bill says. “I won’t call you Harry tonight. I see you.”

“You have no idea who I am,” Holden says and shakes his head again. “I’m--You’re used to controlling everyone in the room. I won’t let you control me. It’s not complicated--why you want me. I’m not stupid.”

“No, you aren’t stupid,” Bill says and his voice draws nearer. “You’re the smartest person I’ve met in awhile.”

Holden tenses, shoulders drawing up, and then Bill is  _ touching  _ him. His hands smooth down Holden’s sides and then a mouth presses against his neck. Bill grabs him by the hips, slides his hands forward so one is pressed against the base of his throat and the other is a flat pane of warmth on his lower stomach. 

“Maybe it’s about control,” Bill says and kisses Holden’s nape. “Maybe I want to be the first person to see you uncoil.” 

“I’m not actually a virgin,” Holden says irritably, pulling free of Bill’s grasp. He backs up until he runs into the horse again. 

“No, but I guarantee that whatever coed let you stick your hands up her sweater didn’t know how to work you over like I will,” Bill says and pulls a cufflink free. He drops it on the carpet. Rolls up his sleeve. Then pulls the next one free. “I’m sure she smelled good and her hair was curled just-so. But there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that she made you relax that giant brain of yours and let go.” 

“You don’t know me,” Holden insists, irritated. “You act like you have some insight into who I am but you don’t.” 

“You aren’t as buttoned-up as you think you are, Holden,” Bill says, folding his other sleeve in neat movements. He reaches up and tugs on his tie. “You have a running ticker tape on your forehead that just says ‘I haven’t unclenched since puberty started’.”

“Oh, and you’re the person to make me unclench?” Holden asks, hands on hips. “You’ve got some magic key to unlock me?” 

“It scares you,” Bill says, tie sliding between his fingers like water. He unbuttons his collar. “It scares you that someone might crack you open. You just need to let me. Let off some steam for once in your life, Holden.” 

“What would you do?” Holden asks, eyes darting to the hollow of Bill’s throat. 

“Take the reins from you,” Bill says and Holden scoffs. 

“You want me to trust you?”

“You’re essential to my plan. If you don’t trust me, trust your place in my plan,” Bill says and toes off one of his shiny wingtips. “Just let go, Holden.”

Holden is silent, turning over the situation as rapidly as his brain can function. It’s stupid to give in to Bill. To make himself vulnerable in yet another way. He can’t. 

“You’re asking too much,” Holden says and Bill kicks his other shoe away. He shrugs off his jacket, revealing his pistols fully. “You can’t believe I’d let you--”

“I know you’re going to let me,” Bill says and takes a gun out of his holster. He holds it grip-out towards Holden. “Take it.”

“You’re giving me a weapon?” Holden asks and Bill gestures again with the gun. “You’re insane.”

“You know you can’t kill me. I know I can’t kill you,” Bill says. “Better than trust. It’s insurance.” 

“Tell me another secret,” Holden says, still shadowing that night on the roof. He needs more to allow himself this. “Tell me something no one knows. Tell me something that will make what you do anything but-but  _ monstrous _ .”

There’s a pause then, full of tension. 

“I had a wife,” Bill says after that long moment. His arm falls to his side. His face is shuttered. “And a son.”

Holden freezes. 

“And they were in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Bill continues. “And the police wouldn’t do anything. They were in pocket. And my  _ colleagues _ at the FBI wouldn’t touch it because of jurisdictional issues. And I buried my family without any answers. So, I left the Bureau. And I found my answers, Holden.” 

“The Russians,” Holden breathes and Bill nods, just barely. 

“The fuck’s name is Ivankov. I’m so close,” Bill continues. “To being done. To exacting justice.”

“The Russians are too strong,” Holden says. “There’s ten to every one of your men.”

“Not after Saturday,” Bill says. “They won’t know what hit them.”

“Bill, you can’t think you’ll survive going toe-to-toe with the Russians,” Holden says, brows knitted together. Bill is stiff, like a barking dog, and utterly vacant in his face. “Bill, you’ll be torn apart.”

“It doesn’t matter, is the thing. As long as I take Ivankov down with me, it's worth it,” he says steadily and Holden is overwhelmed with the blankness in his voice. 

He strides across the room to Bill, his body moving faster than his brain and he reaches up to grab the back of Bill’s neck and pulls him down. This is the root of the man he met on the roof. The incongruous nature of a man seeking revenge, all that rage and violence balanced with a need for justice. 

Their foreheads press together and Holden realizes he’s panting. He reaches out and takes hold of Bill’s wrist and slides his hand down until he’s got the gun. 

“Do it,” he says, pulse racing. This terrible stillness in Bill is worse than anything so far. He’s granting permission for Bill’s hands on him and Bill’s bullets in dozens of men. He’s implicit in this, one way or another. “Whatever it is.”

Holden breaks the final binding he’s held onto, the last vestige of his oaths to the Bureau, and tilts up until he’s kissing Bill. 

Like a dam breaking, Bill leans into him, arm coming up and around Holden’s waist and the kiss deepens until Holden’s breathing messily around Bill’s tongue. Bill pulls back with a quiet groan and then he’s tearing Holden’s shirt apart with enough force to break the buttons off. Holden’s draws in a heaving breath and then Bill’s sucking love-bites into the thin skin over Holden’s collarbones. It hurts as much as it feels good. 

Holden laces his wrists together behind Bill’s neck but the metal of the gun is jarring against his skin. He fits it back into Bill’s holster, shivering when Bill drags his teeth over the cord of Holden’s neck. 

Bill moves back up to kiss Holden, shoving the ruined button-up down Holden’s arms until they’re caught behind his back. Bill pulls Holden’s white undershirt up and over Holden’s head so his torso is on clear display. Bill looks like he's as incensed as Holden, driven to a place of madness by the skin against his. He walks Holden backwards, kissing him slow and messy and guiding him with hands on his waist. 

He shoves Holden back on the bed and Holden tries to steer his fall, his arms are effectively bound behind him and he lands with little elegance. 

“What are you doing?” Holden asks and Bill climbs up on the bed between Holden’s knees. His gun grips protrude from either side of his ribs. He gives Holden a snarky grin before he leans down to dip his tongue in the sweat pooling on Holden’s sternum. “That’s—that’s unclean. Bill.”

“I’m going to be putting my tongue in a lot of places that are unclean,” Bill says lowly and Holden simply boggles at that. His dick jumps and Bill reaches down to rub his palm over Holden. “You like that, huh? You’re as dirty as I expected, Holden.”

“I’m not—I don’t—,” Holden tries, but his brain is fizzling out from the firm pressure on his dick. 

“It’s alright,” Bill says. “You can be dirty. Anyone ever suck you off?”

“No,” Holden says, panting and craning his neck to look at Bill. “Are you going to?”

“Am I going to what?”

“Suck me off,” Holden parrots and is rewarded with Bill unzipping his pants. 

“Are you going to ask nicely?” Bill asks, still radiating smugness. 

“No,” Holden says, flushing. “I’m not.”

“You will,” Bill says and he pops the fly on Holden’s pants and takes hold of his cock. Holden groans, arching up from the sheer, overwhelming nature of the moment. He’s trussed up, at the mercy of a criminal who has got Holden’s dick in his hand. 

Bill leans down and draws Holden into a languid kiss, slow and filthy. Holden finds himself craning up to meet Bill’s mouth. They kiss, wide-mouthed and wet, while Bill jacks Holden slowly. 

Bill presses wet, open-mouthed kisses down Holden’s throat and chest until he’s licking a hard circle around one of Holden’s nipples. He sucks it into his mouth, tongue flicking over the hard peak, and doesn’t pull off until Holden is groaning in cycling gasps. 

“I’m gonna finish just from this,” Holden manages to gasp, toes curling. 

“We aren’t close to being finished,” Bill says and he gives Holden’s chest one more long suck before he stands up. Holden groans from lack of contact and sits up to match Bill. His rock-hard dick bobs and leaves a smear of precum on his stomach. 

“What?” Holden asks, stupid from pleasure. 

Bill chuckles and leans over Holden to pull his arms free from the shirt. He pulls the undershirt down Holden’s arms as well and then presses him flat on the bed with a hand against Holden’s chest. Holden’s pants are next and then he’s back in underpants in front of Bill Tench. 

But this time his cock is hanging over the waistband.

“Fuck,” Holden breathes and Bill smiles then, wickedly. 

“Roll over,” Bill says and Holden obeys, only second guessing when Bill grabs him by his hips and hoists him to all fours. Bill drapes himself over Holden, a warm weight against Holden’s exposed skin. He reaches under Holden and grabs his dick again, jacks him off slowly and sets the edge of his teeth against Holden’s shoulder. “You’re ready for it.”

“Ready for what?” Holden asks, arching his neck so Bill can bite into the side of his neck. He’s something new tonight, something beyond himself. Holden’s in a fever and Bill is wood on the pyre. Something ragged tears open in Holden’s chest and he drops his head onto his crossed forearms. 

“To get out of your head,” Bill answers and drags dull nails over Holden’s sides. It stings more than expected and Holden flinches. Bill grabs a handful of Holden’s hair and pulls his head back until he’s a stretched, bowed line. His shoulders burn and it fills his head with a hot buzzing.

“Please,” he says like a punch to the gut. Bill yanks just a little harder and then his other hand is back on Holden’s cock. He’s consumed by callouses moving over him and the burn in his neck and he’s biting his lip to keep from babbling. 

Bill shoves his head forward then, pressing it into the black duvet on the bed and leaning his weight on Holden. Holden manages to turn his head to the side, sucking in mouthfuls of breath as Bill carefully strips his dick. 

“Just breathe,” Bill says and he lets off on Holden’s head. His hand smooths down Holden’s spine and he presses until there’s an arch to Holden’s back he hadn’t managed before. His chest and shoulders are pressed to the bed but his hips are tilted up. Bill’s own hardness is pressed against him. 

Bill’s hands trail until he’s pulling Holden’s briefs down around his knees. Holden goes stock-still as the air hits his bare skin. 

“All you have to do is breathe,” Bill says and he pulls the briefs down passed Holden’s knees and over his feet. He pets Holden until his back relaxes again into that unfamiliar swoop. Then he scratches his nails from the backs of Holden’s knees up to the curve of his ass. 

Holden sucks in a breath, Bill’s words ringing in his ears and he just breathes. 

Bill massages Holden’s ass. This is a wholly new experience. No one has ever done more than swat Holden’s ass in the locker room. This is—just breathe. 

Bill’s hands are big and just textured enough that Holden’s skin feels hot when he moves his hands down to Holden’s thighs. He slides his hands up and down the inside of Holden’s thighs, the backs of his hands brush against Holden’s dick. Against all of him. 

He’s just settled into enjoying Bill’s massage when Bill leans in and presses a kiss to the peak of Holden’s ass cheek. 

“What are you doing?” Holden asks, taking control of his jumpy voice. He clears his throat, nearly choking when Bill bites the other cheek. 

“Holden,” Bill growls and Holden’s dick bobs again at the gravel in his voice. Holden sighs, settling back down only to shout when Bill suddenly licks a strip from Holden’s balls to his tailbone. Bills got a firm grasp of his hips now and he pulls Holden back more firmly against his mouth. 

Bill’s tongue is an impossible heat against a place that has no business being touched by another person. Bill lalves flat, short strokes over Holden’s hole and Holden tangles his fingers in his own hair. He grips the sweat-induced curls hard and flushes scarlet when a long, loud moan falls out of his mouth. 

“Fuck,” he groans and it kicks off a litany of swears. “Bill. Your fucking mouth. Your mouth. Oh, Jesus fuck. I can’t—Bill, I can’t—“

He can feel Bill smile against him and double-down, tongue pointed now and working fluidly into Holden. His legs are shaking and he’s practically pulling his own hair out when Bill yanks him back further, forces Holden open even more and flicks his tongue in a nasty circle around Holden’s rim. 

Holden’s cock is leaking onto the bed below him and he’s moving back against Bill’s face in a roiling motion he had never made before. Bill presses a thumb over Holden’s hole and leans down a little to lap Holden’s balls. His thumb presses inside, a foreign pressure that leaves Holden sobbing into the duvet. 

“Ask me to suck your cock,” Bill says, voice raw, and Holden’s pleading before he finishes the sentence. Bill turns Holden back over with a strength that would be scary in another setting. 

Holden briefly comes back into his body and he catalogues the wanton spread of his own limbs. 

His fingers are still tangled in his own hair and his mouth is wide open and begging. 

“—please, Bill—Please. Suck my cock. Suck me—“

His legs are canted open, knobby knees pressed apart by Bill’s big hands and there’s a cooling wetness between his legs he can’t think about without dissolving into a pained noise. 

Bill starts at Holden’s balls, lapping and holding them gently in his mouth. He’s ignoring Holden’s aching dick, hands moving from Holden’s knees to the sensitive area where his thighs and groin meet. He’s framing Holden’s cock, his hands making a diamond that he uses to press Holden still against the mattress. 

“Why should I suck you off?” Bill asks, staring down at Holden. He’s still in his dress shirt and slacks. His gun holster. He looks every bit as powerful as Holden knows him to be. 

“What?” Holden asks, drunk from sensation. 

“Tell me why I should suck you off,” Bill says and runs his thumbs up and down the base of Holden’s dick. Holden sucks in a nervous breath, shame flooding his gut. 

“I want you to,” Holden tries and Bill shakes his head.

“Why do you want me to?” 

“I want to feel what—I want to know what it feels like,” Holden says, trying to force his brain to work. 

“What it feels like,” Bill echoes. He grips Holden’s dick in one hand and works it up and down. “Try a little harder, Holden.”

“I want to know how it feels to cum from a mouth on me,” Holden says, staring furiously over to the side. “I want you to make me cum.”

“You’d be happy with any mouth,” Bill says, hand moving over Holden. Holden feels a squirm of guilt in his belly. 

“Not any mouth,” Holden says and Bill slows his ministrations. 

“Look at me,” Bill says and Holden does. Bill is especially broad now, looming over him with his pistols at his sides. “I’m going to suck your dick. But you have to admit what you want.”

“How do I know?” Holden asks, hands pressed against his chest. 

“You’ll figure it out,” Bill says and leans down between Holden’s knees. “You just aren’t there yet.” 

The drawer on the nightstand opens but it hardly registers, Holden is fisting his hands in his hair and staring at the ceiling. 

Then, every thought in Holden’s brain is replaced by Bill’s mouth, his hot-wet- _ moving  _ mouth, and he’s gripping the duvet desperately. 

Bill’s hand is back on his ass, fingers slicker now and he presses a thumb against Holden’s hole. His mouth is distracting enough that Holden is barely aware of the intrusion. The thumb works him from within and Holden finds himself clamping his knees on Bill’s shoulders and arching up off the bed. 

Bill’s almost at the right speed, a little too slow for Holden to get any real traction, and he’s set a mechanical gait on Holden. 

“Please, more,” Holden says and Bill pulls off to smile up at him with teeth. He trades his thumb for two fingers and pushes Holden’s knee up and out with the other. Holden feels split open, more vulnerable than he knew he could and his head falls back on the bed when Bill lean down to catch his cock with his mouth. 

Holden squirms, hips moving just barely to try and coax Bill into a faster pace. If anything, Bill slows down. He drives his fingers in deeper and finds a place inside Holden he didn’t know existed. This debauchery, the sinful heat pooling in his stomach, it’s too much for a man to bear. 

He sits up on his elbows, abs crunching, and takes in the sight before him. Bill is working him over in slow, even pulls. Holden can see Bill’s shoulder moving and feel the echo of motion inside him. It sets Holden off into another mess of moans and Bill meets his gaze. 

Bill looks smug, holding the upper hand even here. It fills Holden with frustration, anger, lust. It all blends together until Holden reaches down, grips Bill’s hair in one fist and starts fucking up into his mouth. 

Bill groans then, mouth falling open, and Holden  _ grinds  _ up into the sensation. The vibrations of Bill’s sounds are a cacophony of overwhelming pleasure and he’s caught—mindless—between thrusting up into Bill’s mouth or down onto his wicked fingers. 

“You’re wrecking me,” Holden finds himself grunting, still leaning forward on one elbow. His cock is a red, wet blur plunging into Bill’s mouth and he can barely process what’s happening in his hole. He feels like he’s barely hanging on but Bill is moving faster, surging him onward with more violent thrusts from his fingers. 

Holden thinks he must have three in there by now, from the stretch, but he hardly remembers the two. Or the one, for that matter. He’s close now, feeling the orgasm build in his belly and chasing it.

Finally, the orgasm builds enough to burst and he cums with a strangled yell down Bill’s throat. 

Bill—dear  _ God _ — swallows it and Holden forces his fingers to release Bill’s cropped hair. It’s a few moments before Holden calms down enough to fall back on the bed, knees knocking together and arms crossing over his face. Bill traces fingers down his trunk, pausing to pinch Holden’s nipple. It drives a new set of shivers from Holden and he lifts a forearm enough to peek at Bill. 

Bill looks. Well. Rough. 

His mouth is red and his pupils are blown. He’s still dressed but his dick is tenting his pants obscenely. 

I did that, Holden thinks to himself. I made him look like that. 

“I lost control,” Holden says, still breathing like he ran a marathon. “Did I hurt you?”

“Do you really care if you did?” Bill asks and his voice is raspy and destroyed. 

“No,” Holden says. He lurches up to catch Bill in a kiss, licks between his teeth and tastes himself. Holden revels in the perversion. 

Bill moves, presses him back on the bed and follows him down. Holden can feel him undoing his belt and reaches down to help him. He pauses before actually taking hold of Bill’s cock, getting back into his head, and Bill bites him viciously on the side of the neck. 

Pain whites out Holden’s brain and then Bill is catching his open mouth in another filthy kiss. Holden feels helpless under him, unable to recall his staunch moral fiber, and he writhes up against Bill. Wraps his arms around Bill’s shoulders. Their mouths are indelicate. Tongues roll together and teeth press into lips and Holden isn’t sure where he ends and Bill begins. 

Bill’s pulling himself off and Holden wants to feel him move. Holden bends his knees and grips Bill’s sides, arches until his soft prick is pushed against the rapid movement of Bill’s hand. 

It’s too much, too fast and Holden can’t help the sounds that are falling out of his mouth. He’s too loud, he knows, but the idea of someone hearing him just pushes him further into incineration. 

“You’re impossible,” Bill says, nonsensical and close. He’s pulled back just enough to meet Holden’s eyes. Holden feels cross-eyed and immoral, roiling under this dense man. “Tell me why you want this.”

“You make me crazy,” Holden pants, arching up against him. “You make me want to start fires and suck your cock and—oh, fuck.”

He’s just constantly prattling, swearing allegiance to Bill’s hands and his cock and then Bill takes both of their dicks in his hand and white-hot nebulas burst behind Holden’s eyes. 

Wetness splatters on Holden’s stomach and he curls , destroyed, over Bill’s hands. His mouth ends up pressed to Bill’s throat and he bites down, cumming again so hard it hurts. 

Bill rolls off him, panting, and Holden waits for his eyesight to become singular again. 

“God damn,” Bill says in an exhale. He laughs and reaches up for something. The snick of a lighter and a sudden glow, curling smoke. Holden can’t bring his mind to heel well enough to form full thoughts. 

“Fuck,” he says, finally and Bill snorts. 

“Well put,” he says.

Holden draws a fingertip from the crest of his own hip to his collarbone. His skin is clammy, the fire in him soothing to a welcome soreness in his muscles. He’s exhausted and thirsty and struggling to organize his thoughts. 

They slip through his mind, fish in a river, and he lets them go. Sleep takes him. 

***

Holden stretches, unfurling from the curl he sleeps in. His shoulders ache and his lower back and his—

It all floods back. The mania of Bill’s hands and mouth and the debased activities he took part in. He looks over.

Bill is sleeping soundly beside him. He’s got a lurid bruise high up under his jaw and Holden rolls towards him. He did that. 

He reaches out a finger and presses it into the center of the bruise and Bill starts awake. 

“Holden,” he says, voice rough from sleep. 

“I don’t know how to come back from last night,” Holden says honestly. “I don’t know who I am if I’m—what I was last night.” 

“Fuck’s sake,” Bill groans and slides a hand over his eyes. “Can this wait until the sun rises?”

“Not really,” Holden says and sits up. He buries his head in his hands. “Where do I go from here?”

“You join me,” Bill says and he’s mumbling around what is probably another cigarette. “And we use your insider knowledge and my hold on the city. We start with Chicago and move on. Los Angeles. New Jersey. We clean it all up.” 

“That’s out of the question,” Holden says into his hands. “I know that much about myself.”

“Then we finish our arrangement,” Bill says and Holden looks over at him. He’s sat up against the headboard smoking. “And once I have what I need, I cut you loose.”

“It’s that simple to you?” Holden asks over his shoulder. 

“What? Did you expect me to get down on one knee?” Bill scoffs and Holden considers the question. 

“No,” he says and Bill meets his eyes. “But I didn’t expect any of this to happen.”

“I guess you wouldn’t,” Bill says. “But I knew as soon as I saw you at the bar. In your  _ shorts _ .”

“Shut up,” Holden says, turning away. 

Bill laughs in return and smoke rings drift beside Holden. 

***

He spends the day watching mindless television, legs folded against his chest while Bill makes a series of terse phone calls. The clothing in the suitcase did not deign wearing. It was all hot pants and platform shoes. And feathers. His button up is ruined so he’s just in his slacks and undershirt. 

The day seems to stretch on forever and Bill goes from pacing to sitting almost completely still. He reminds Holden of a rattlesnake, coiling before the strike.

His men bring food around lunch time and Holden helps himself to solid food while Bill downs whiskey glass after glass. His ashtray brims with cigarette butts and it’s just after eight o’clock when the phone rings. 

“This is Tench,” Bill says, voice clipped and he visibly sags in his chair at whatever the other voice says. 

“How many casualties?”

“And the warehouse—Ah. Good.”

“Close up and roll out. Clean up crew should be hitting it in a matter of minutes.”

Bill hangs up the phone and then sits back in his seat and exhales long and slow. 

“It worked,” Holden says and turns off the tv. “You did it.”

“I did,” Bill says and stares across the room at nothing. 

“What did you do?”

“I’m assuming you know about the big dope drop. It was going to the Russians. But I’ve been taking all their grunts. All their low level packagers and trimmers. He’s got a giant shipment burning a hole in his pocket and Ivankov had to rearrange some assets.”

“All his foot soldiers were in one place,” Holden says, leaning forward to fold his arms on his knees. “You took them out. Are you going after him now?”

“No,” Bill says and he meets Holden’s eyes. “I’m not just cutting the head off the snake. I’m burning the nest down.”

***

Bill doesn’t sleep that night and Holden lays awake in that giant bed by himself. In the morning, he gives in and picks out the most conservative shirt from the suitcase. It’s a gauzy black v-neck but it will simply have to do.

The plane ride is equally quiet, all the heat has gone from Bill. He’s iced over, still and vacant. Holden sees the cold-blooded criminal now where he hadn’t before. 

He lets Holden sit in his own seat.

Holden is standing to leave the plane when Bill grabs his arm and leans over to say something softly in his ear. 

“Tonight, Grace Jimenez. She’s a Madame out of Harris Boulevard. She’s got a few young girls,” he breathes and Holden peers into his face for a semblance of the man he kissed. The man he fucked.

There is none. 

Calvin drives him back to the bistro he picked him up from and Holden orders a large drip and croissant. The barista, the same one as before, takes a careful look at Holden’s neck and blanches. 

Holden is sullen on his way back to the safe house, eating his croissant mechanically, and ignoring the twinge that is still settled into his muscles. He unlocks the front door and Walsh is immediately on him, hands pressed to his face in a nearly affectionate move. 

“Shit went down,” she says in greeting and turns his head to and fro. Holden watches her gaze stutter on his many, many hickeys. “Did you get in a wrestling match with a Hoover?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Holden says. “I have intel. I want to take a shower and then I’ll debrief. I need--I need a minute.”

“I’ll hold Turner off,” Walsh says and Holden ignores the pity in her voice. He beelines to the bathroom and cranks the shower on. Finally, once steam is billowing into the room, he allows himself to look in the mirror. 

He’s mauled. A necklace of glaring bruises circe his neck and spread down over his shoulders. He strips off the v-neck to reveal long scratches over his ribs. More lovebits on his inner thighs. He turns and catalogues the scratches on the backs of his thighs. Skinny welts. Round bruises. He’s been wrecked. 

And he’s been lost. Lost in Bill, lost in sensation. He’s been monstrous and animalistic, taking what he wanted and reveling in. 

Sinful isn’t a strong enough term. 

He’d been hedonistic. The things he let—the things he  _ wanted  _ Bill to do. Bill’s tongue had been rapturous. He’s been ravished. He wants it to happen again. 

He freezes, realizes his dick is hard against his thigh. He meets his own gaze in the mirror. He’s flushed to his nipples, mouth agape and eyes hooded. He looks debauched. He looks hungry. 

He sucks in a tripping breath and forces himself to step into the shower.The shower is hot enough to drive thoughts from his mind. He can’t think about this now. He can’t think about what just happened. 

He redresses in a turtleneck and Bureau issue track pants and debriefs with Turner and Walsh as clinically as he can. 

“I’ve got a lead on a pimp,” he says after they finish discussing the major take-down of the Russians. He rifles through their case files until he finds Jimenez. She already has a dossier and he sets it on the table before his team mates. “She’s got young girls. Under eighteen. And I think they’re going to be getting a new shipment of girls soon. Bill’s been invited to a yacht party in Miami.”

“We had a hunch they were getting girls through the water,” Turner says. “This could be how. Do you have an invite?”

“I do. And I have one for Walsh,” Holden says and she mock-salutes him. “It’s in a little over a week.”

“Sounds like we have a plan,” Turner says. “Do you feel that we should move on the yacht?”

“I do,” Holden says and rifles for a few more dossiers. He spreads them out, open to the headshot in each file, and taps the faces. “These men will all be attendance. We know they all have ties to Cuba and to Tench. It might be our big move.” 

“Sure as shit,” Walsh chimes in and she stands. Her big eyes hover on Holden’s collar. “I’m going to call in Jimenez. Get a task force together.”

“Hop to it,” Turner agrees and then he sucks in a breath through his teeth. He turns back to Holden. “How are you holding up, Ford?”

“I’m doing well,” Holden lies. 

“Take the rest of the day,” Turner says. “Go for a run. Or to the shooting range. You look twitchy.”

“Yes, sir,” Holden says and Turner nods slowly. 

“Alright,” Turner says and he sits at the table and starts leafing through the case files. 

***

Shooting does not help. 

Running does help. 

At least until Holden’s screaming thighs force him to stagger to a halt. He stoops, gasping in breath through a sore throat. His blood is rushing through his ears and he wobbles on his feet towards a nearby bench. 

He collapses on it, legs stretched out before him and head tilted back to look at the overcast sky. His inertia hasn’t quite accepted that he’s no longer in motion and the clouds are swirling gently above him. He feels a little like he’s going to puke and he stamps down the urge to lean over his knees and vomit between his feet. 

His stomach and breathing settle eventually and Holden raises the hem of his t-shirt to wipe sweat out of his eyes. The cold air is jarring on his sweat-warm body but it helps to bring him out of his runner’s high. 

He had sex with a man. He had fantastic sex with a man. He has primal, selfish, disgusting sex with Bill Tench. And he’d do it again. 

And again. 

And again. 

He wonders at the dramatic change in Bill. The sarcastic, witty man from the club and the first night at the hotel versus the cold, reptilian one on the plane. Which is the real Bill?

Was it all just another game? 

No. Not that night.

Holden feels like puking again. 

He knows Bill’s ministrations are closing down on the Russians and he knows the  pièce de résistance can’t be far behind. His time with Bill is ending soon. 

He shouldn’t be sad. He should be relieved. He is relieved, he decides. He decides to stand again as well. 

His legs protest but he pushes himself into a rolling gait again, feet pounding on the pavement and every thought drifts out of his head and behind him as he runs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. Thank you for reading and commenting.


	3. Chapter 3

Bill calls for him several days later.

“I don’t have much for you,” Bill says, guiding him up the passageway behind the tapestry. Holden can’t bring himself to focus with Bill’s hands slipping under his shirt. Fingers graze the dip of his spine and he fights a shiver. 

The bedroom is just as orderly and lush as the last time Holden was here. He stands in the middle of the room, unsure what to do. It’s impossible not to remember the last time he and Bill were alone. 

Flashes of hot mouths and bruising grips flicker through his mind and he feels his face heat up. Bill is gathering some paperwork off a desk and Holden opens his mouth before he can think. 

“How can you just turn it on and off? I don’t understand,” he says and Bill stills by the desk. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Our—What you—Jesus,” Holden sighs and crosses to a window. “Fine. We won’t discuss it.”

“Don’t make it more than it was,” Bill says. He turns back, face firm. Holden realizes Bill’s put on glasses and is unimpressed with his own bodies’ arousal response. “We burnt off some steam. Had a good time.”

“The things you said weren’t just about sex,” Holden says, feeling like he’s standing on a cliff. “You said things—The kindest things anyone has said about me in a long time. Was it just a play to—to—“

“To get my dick wet? To recruit a permanent mole? Well, shit, maybe, Holden. It’s not like I picked you out of a catalogue. You’re what I got. And I can’t get it up for Walsh, so, yeah. Maybe it was a play,” Bill spits, quietly seething. 

“That’s really fucking terrible,” Holden says, voice steady, and sticks his hands in his pockets. He’s been half-way expecting it. He’s hardly upset. “You’re an asshole.”

“Come on, Holden. Figure it out,” Bill says, still quiet. He spreads his arms out. “I’m not going to hold your hand and tell you tender nothings.”

“That’s bullshit,” Holden says. “I was up on that roof with you. I was in that hotel room. And, anyway, I’m not so naive as to actually expect anything from this. You’re just—how did you put it? You’re just getting your dick wet. Alright. Understood.”

“Holden, sit down and shut up.”

“I just wish you’d keep all the games even-keel. Am I supposed to be the fuck pet or the Boy Scout here? Who did you send for this time?”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Bill warns and it just pushes Holden further into his anger. 

“Or what? You’re going to tell me I’m the smartest person in the room and suck my cock again?”

Bill looks like he wants to knock Holden on his ass, but then something hard leaves his facial expression and his shoulders slump minutely. 

“You are smart. Smart enough to know to stay put,” Bill says finally and then he leaves the bedroom. 

Holden watches him go then settles heavily into the bed. He kicks his shoes off and scoots back on the bed until he’s got his head on the pillow. There’s a hand-embroidered tapestry above him of rolling hills and a knight on a horse. Holden presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and exhales slowly. 

There’s a battered copy of Invisible Man on the bedside table and Holden picks it up. It’s annotated in blue pen from the first line to the last. The book falls naturally open to a page with a line circled and underlined. Holden rubs his fingers over the ink. 

Play the game, but don’t believe in it – that much you owe yourself. Play the game, but raise the ante, my boy. Learn how it operates, learn how you operate.

It’s quintessentially Bill. Always plotting, always leveraging. Always weighing his actions and pressing those around him into motion. 

Holden spends the next few hours of the night sitting on Bill’s massive bed, reading while Bill and Cal plan in hushed voices in the sitting room. 

He’s rounding the witching hour, too keyed up sleep. He wants to creep down and listen to Bill’s plans but he knows that’s not something he wants to get caught doing. In a fit of anarchy, he snoops through every drawer he can. Most drawers have clothing. Some have guns and bullets. A handful have meticulously cooked records, the true ledger and the falsified ones rubber banded together. 

It’s in the bedside drawers that he comes across a hinged picture frame of a woman and child. The woman has a froth of blonde curls and a sweet smile. The boy is placid in the photo, eyes ringed with sleepless bruises and the smile of one instructed to do so. Holden sits on the bed, cradling the frame in his hands. They’re named, the letters engraved on the frame and Holden studies the photos closer.

Nancy, the wife. Sweet looking. A little mousey, perhaps. He can’t imagine her standing beside Bill. He can’t imagine her embracing Bill and feeling his pistols press into her arms. 

Brian. Too young to die, at least. They look impossibly gentle. Far too gentle to have gang wars waged in their honor. 

“What have you got there, trouble?” Bill asks from the doorway and Holden stifles the urge to jump. 

“Sorry,” he offers, fearful he’s crossed some line. 

Bill moves to sit beside him. He takes the frame and runs a thumb over Brian’s face and then folds the frame closed. He leans over Holden’s legs to put it back in the drawer and closes it. 

“You don’t know when to quit,” Bill says softly and Holden folds his hands against his thighs. “You push. And push.”

“I’m sorry,” Holden says and Bill shakes his head and takes his glasses off. Those go on the side table and then he’s standing and stripping. 

The suit jacket is neatly hung up, the shoes tucked in the closet on shelving. The pants go on another hanger and the tie is hung on a tie rack. Then, Bill’s stood there before him in a shirt, a holster and striped boxers. 

“Help me with this,” he says. Holden gingerly rises and begins unbuckling the holster. The guns are set on the table and the holster hung over a chair. Holden unbuttons the shirt, eyes on his fingers. 

Suddenly, Bill grabs Holden by the back of the neck and draws him close. Holden’s face ends up presses to Bill’s chest and his fingers freeze against the buttons. 

“You’re impossible,” Bill says. He sounds exhausted. “Always pushing, Holden. You’ll sleep here tonight?”

Holden is furious at himself for nodding against Bill’s chest. Bill pets the nape of his neck and Holden shivers then. The touch turns purposeful, Bill’s other hand trails across Holden’s hip and down to grab his ass. 

“Are we going to have sex again?” Holden asks, nerves roiling in his gut, and Bill exhales. 

“Tell me what you want,” Bill orders.

Holden pulls away. He turns his back to Bill and crosses his arms. He wants to taste Bill. He wants to crawl into him and find the honest core of the man. But he wasn’t prepared to feel cast aside before and he isn’t sure he wants that now. He wants to be ruined by Bill. But he knows that it’s not actually something he can handle. 

They’re caught in a mirror of that night, always refracting the same actions over and over. Bill collects him from behind, big hands pressing over his sternum and Bill’s breath against his neck. The breath becomes the press of lips and then the edge of teeth. Holden’s head falls to the side and he reaches up to twist his fingers with Bill’s. 

“I want you to tell me what this is. Is it all just a game? Is it really just convenient?”

“There’s nothing convenient about you,” Bill answers and then he bites the shell of Holden’s ear. Holden’s breath hitches and Bill squeezes him. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Holden says, his voice dropping into a lower register when Bill sucks a hickey into the skin behind his ear. 

“You’re essential,” Bill says. He pulls their entwined hands down to press on Holden’s cock. He’s still soft but Bill coaxes him to touch himself. “To my plan. You’re a warm body in the night. Beyond that—You’re the enemy.”

“I think your lying,” Holden says, head falling back to Bill’s shoulder. Bill laves his tongue up the cord of Holden’s throat. It’s hot, glossing over Holden’s pulse point. Holden pants his next words. “I think you like me. I think I’ve grown on you—“

“Holden,” Bill growls and bites solidly into Holden’s neck. 

“You want me. Really me,” Holden whispers and Bill’s hands still on his. Bill turns him then, firmly, he holds him by his upper arms. 

“You’re going to get hurt,” Bill snaps. He shakes Holden once, a sharp jerk. “You idiot. This doesn’t end with us riding into the sunset. This ends with dead bodies and you keeping your fucking nose clean.”

“You can say whatever you want,” Holden argues. “I have eyes. The way you touch me. It’s more than just mindless rutting.”

“So what? That doesn’t change a damn thing,” Bill says and he’s still got his hands clamped around Holden’s biceps. “No matter how I touch you—This only ends one way.”

“But you admit it,” Holden says and he’s cringing towards Bill, curling like a dying orchid. “You admit it’s more.”

“Damn it, Holden,” Bill says and he lets go. He’s still in his button up, though it’s open in the front. He stalks over to the bar, lights a cigarette. “It doesn’t matter. This is business.”

“It’s not just that anymore,” Holden argues and he follows Bill. Bill blows his smoke in a stream and Holden drops to his knees. 

“Holden,” Bill sighs and Holden presses his palms to Bill’s hips. 

“I’m not running,” Holden says carefully and he spreads his fingers over the stupid, striped boxers. “I feel it. Whatever it is.”

“So what? You’re going to put on a leather jacket and work my dope routes? Grow up, Holden.”

“I don’t think we have to compromise our morals to agree that there’s something between us,” Holden says, quite reasonably. “If we can’t be honest—“

Holden’s cut off by Bill bodily pulling him off the ground and setting him back on his feet. Bill’s frowning heavily. 

“I can’t listen to you lecture me on your knees,” Bill says and takes another drag. “You can keep going now.”

“If we can’t be honest here in this room, where we know each other more than anyone else in the world, where can we be honest?” Holden says and he watches Bill go into the walk-in closet. He comes out in cotton pajama bottoms and an undershirt. “You told me I could trust my place in your plan.”

“You can,” Bill says and heads into the en suite. Holden trails after him. Bill starts brushing his teeth. 

“I trust you,” Holden says, realizing he means it. He watches toothpaste foam drop into the sink. “I do.”

“Then you’re more of an idiot than I thought,” Bill says and meets his eyes in the mirror. He spits out more foam and washes his face with his hands brusquely. 

“I don’t trust you with national security or anything criminally-adjacent but I do trust that you’re a good man,” Holden says and Bill looks away. 

“Are you staying?” Bill asks, voice casual. 

“I’m staying,” Holden says. Bill ducks his chin a little, smiles just barely. 

They get in bed without much talk. Holden strips down to his underwear and Bill turns off the lights once he’s in the bed. 

It’s strange to Holden. Laying on his back beside a man. Bill falls asleep almost immediately and it’s not until Holden’s counted fifty snores that he rolls on his side towards Bill. 

He reaches out carefully and brushes his fingers over Bill’s bare, freckled shoulder. 

***

The morning greets him to an empty bed. Further exploration shows him an empty house, aside from some help staff. The main butler gives Holden a note with instructions for the Miami party flight. 

He absolutely refuses to be hurt. 

They take another private plane ride to Miami and Holden is glad to have Walsh here. Bill keeps him in his lap, one arm banded around his waist and Holden’s feet kicked up over the armrest. 

Walsh is dancing with a bottle of champagne that she’s doing a clever job of not drinking. Bill is asleep before they take off and Holden moves his shoulder so Tench is pillowed just a little more carefully. Walsh very pointedly doesn’t look at them. 

It says more than words ever could. 

“Wake up, Bill,” Holden says softly as the plane begins dipping and Bill squeezes him reflexively as he awakes. “We’ve started descent.” 

“You’d better buckle up, kitten,” Cal says over the seat and Holden sneers in response. 

Bill clears his throat meaningfully and Cal sinks back into his seat. 

This time, they’re staying in an opulent, sprawling villa. They take a golf cart to their cabin and Walsh immediately lures the men to the pool once they’ve done their security rounds. Their cabin opens to a private pool and Holden leans in the doorway to watch her. 

“Holden,” Bill says and walks up behind him. He lays a hand on the small of Holden’s back. “We need to talk about how tonight's going to go.”

“Let’s go into the bedroom,” Holden says, watching Walsh play a violent game of chicken. He tears his eyes away and Bill guides him into the bedroom. 

“I’ve got a lot of big players here tonight,” Bill says, closing the door behind them. “You better be able to clear them all out. If this falls back on me, I’m going to be dead in the water.”

“We have teams set up already. We’re ready,” Holden says and Bill sits on the bed. He looks all-weary. Holden crosses over to him and sits beside him. He folds his hands in his lap. “When do you make your move against Ivankov?”

“Soon,” Bill says. “Days.”

“What do you--What information am I providing?”

“I’ll explain when we get there,” Bill says. He rubs a hand over his face. “Holden. I know this hasn’t been pleasant. But I want to thank you. You--You’re helping me find justice.”

“What happened to your family was wrong,” Holden says honestly and he can’t help but visually trace the panes of Bill’s face. “I wish you could have found peace without all the--all the blood. But I don’t know what it feels like to lose someone like that. I can’t really say I would be any different.”

“I pray you don’t ever know,” Bill says and sets a hand on Holden’s thigh, eyes still down-cast. “I pray that you walk away from this and never think about it again.”

“Tonight is going to need to be executed perfectly,” Holden says instead of addressing Bill’s sincere declaration. Bill nods. “What’s the game plan?”

“We stay out of it. Don’t even look at the girls. I’ve arranged a private area for us. We board, head right there. Your people won’t have anything to charge me or my main guys with,” Bill says. “A few of my men are going to go down for possession. I have them holding dope. But otherwise, we’re going to get off on technicalities.” 

“It tracks on paper,” Holden says and Bill grips his thigh tighter. 

“It’ll work. It has to,” Bill says and that’s enough for Holden to believe. 

***

The yacht is ludicrously decadent. String lights hang from every available surface, glittering off all the yards of diamonds and pearls the patrons are wearing. Holden can't count the number of champagne bottles being popped open. Bill keeps a firm hand on Holden’s back. 

“Stay close,” he murmurs to Holden and Holden leans against him more fully. He’s wearing little blue shorts and a collared polo with a sweater tied around his shoulders. Bill’s dressed in a more casual suit than usual but Holden can tell from the looks he receives that his role is clear. 

Their entourage climbs stairs until they’re on the top level of the yacht, on a balcony looking out over the water. The area’s been roped off and there’s a bar trolley parked beside a handful of chairs. 

Bill takes his usual seat in the center of the area and Holden perches on the arm beside him. Bill slings an arm around his hips and rubs a maddening finger over the bare skin he finds at the hem of Holden’s shorts. 

“That tickles,” Holden says, grabbing hold of Bill’s fingers and he staunchly refuses to think about where these fingers have been. 

Bill doesn’t respond but he does grip Holden’s hand tightly. He’s tightly coiled, muscles tense and on-edge. 

This doesn’t change, even as the night continues and he polishes off several glasses of whiskey. 

“Where’s Calvin?” Holden asks, curling down to whisper in Bill’s ear. 

“Leave it,” Bill says brusquely and Holden swallows against the nerves in his chest. 

It’s around one when a small boat cuts across the water towards the yacht. There are six women and a handful of men aboard. 

“The girls,” Bill intones and pulls Holden a little closer. The women board the yacht and not a moment passes before police lights cut across the water. Coast Guard sirens blare in the night and noises of distress filter up from the lower decks. Bill’s men stand and a few toss their guns into the water. 

Disposing of illegal weapons, Holden rationalizes. Bill stands as well and sets his pistols down on the ground and squares his jaw. 

“We go easy, boys,” he calls and his men turn to him. “We’re just having a good time. Nothing to it.”

“Where’s Cal?” One of his men asks and Bill shakes his head. 

“You’re giving Cal up?” Holden hisses into Bill’s ear and Bill pulls him into a facsimile of an embrace. 

“It has to look real,” Bill murmurs and he squeezes Holden’s upper arms. “I have to come out of this clean with your guys and mine.”

Holden draws back and leans into Bill’s side. Bill’s tension makes sense now. He’s sacrificing one of his key players tonight. If this gamble doesn’t pay off, and he doesn’t get off on technicalities, then he’s toppled his own empire in one fell swoop. 

The Coast Guards thunder up the stairs, guns out and pointed. The group dutifully raises their hands and drop to their knees when prompted. They get cuffed and Holden doesn’t see Bill again for hours. 

As soon as Turner enters the interview room he’s undoing Holden’s cuffs. Holden rubs his wrists slowly and rolls his shoulders. 

“Good fucking work, Ford,” Turner says, a big smile on his face. “You won’t believe how many we got. It’s a fuckin zoo in the cells.”

“Are they holding Tench?” Holden asks, playing for casual. 

“No,” Turner says, crossing his arms. “But we got his right-hand. Calvin Page. Idiot had his arms full of illegal alien.”

“I think I’m close to pinning Tench,” Holden says and folds his hands on the interview table. “I think he’s making some big move with the Russians. With Page out of the picture, he’s going to be desperate.” 

“I think you are too, Ford. I feel it in my gut,” he says and paces. He’s all jazzed up from the hunt. “Stay on him. We’re releasing you both and we can orchestrate it so you leave at the same time.”

“How’s Walsh?” Holden asks and Turner waves his hand. 

“She’s the hardest agent I’ve met to date,” Turner says. “I think you could drop a house on her and she’d crawl out looking like a tiny Farrah Fawcett.”

“I think you’d be right there, sir,” Holden says and he pulls his shorts down as much as he can. 

“Okay, back in the cuffs,” Turner says and Holden stands and turns. “Then the officer outside will take you back to booking. I’ll send for Tench to meet you down there.”

***

The cab ride back to the villa is a quiet one. Walsh had hitched a ride with them and she rests her head on Holden’s shoulder as they pass under streetlights. Bill is a silent figure on his other side, weary and sagged against the door. Holden feels, inexplicably, guilt. 

Tench’s men have beaten them back to the cabin and Bill barks a series of orders to them before storming into the bedroom. Walsh shoots him a questioning look and he shakes his head before following Bill. 

“Shut the door,” Bill says in tight snaps and Holden does, leaning his back against it after. He hasn’t met this Bill yet. 

This is a rageful Bill, colored by the hard choices of the night. Holden isn’t sure how to proceed. 

“You look like you did on the roof,” Bill says and Holden flinches. “Like you’re afraid of me.”

“I’m not,” Holden lies for the second time tonight and Bill strips off his own tie in a ragged motion. 

“You are,” Bill says, voice clipped. “You think I’m a monster, right? I am. I’ve done despicable things, Holden.”

“Bill, you’re overwhelmed. What you just did was difficult, but it’s going to be okay,” Holden says, speaking softly and Bill storms up into his personal space. 

“Don’t tell me what I’m feeling,” Bill spits out and slams a hand on either side of Holden. “You don’t know me. You have no idea who I am. You’ve got. No. Clue.”

“Are you okay?” Walsh calls, pounding on the door. “Harry?”

“I’m alright, Bea,” he calls back and Bill tears away from the door to yank his jacket off. Holden goes against every self-preservation instinct and walks further into the room. He doesn’t want his little time left with Bill to be tainted by anger. 

Holden sits on the bed and unties his preppy sweater from around his shoulder. Undoes the top button of his polo and toes off his penny loafers. He wants to make it better. God help him, he wants to make Bill better. It’s overwhelming, the need to smooth feathers. He doesn’t have the faintest idea how. 

Bill’s jacket is on the bed and Holden fishes out the cigarette tin and his zippo. He holds it in his mouth and inhales just enough to catch the tip alight. Bill is slumped by the window, elbow by his head and Holden places one hand between his shoulder blades and holds out the cigarette with the other. 

Bill snorts but takes it and his shoulders relax a fraction under Holden’s hand. Holden presses in a little closer and Bill turns. He has the cigarette in his mouth and he reaches out to grab Holden’s face in both hands. 

“I couldn’t have anticipated you,” Bill says and he tilts Holden’s chin up until Holden has to look through his lashes at Bill. Smoke curls from the cigarette. “I think I would just lose it if you weren’t here. Just absolutely lose it.” 

Holden can feel his brow furrow. He feels like Bill’s just handed him a tangled bunch of Christmas lights and he’s got to unravel it. Bill takes his cigarette between two fingers and puts his hand back on Holden’s jaw. He leans in and Holden closes his eyes preemptively. Bill’s mouth is gentle, so careful and Holden leans up into his mouth. 

“Just forget it tonight,” Holden says, parroting one of his mother’s romance novels he’d snuck a read through. He allows himself to remember the characters--the headstrong farm girl and the wily bandit with the heart-of-gold. Bill is watching him with open, soft eyes and Holden leans up to kiss him again. “Forget everything but us.”

Bill sticks the cigarette back in his mouth and leans to grab Holden’s bare thighs and hoist him up. Holden hasn’t been held since he was a child. It brings an unsettling tightness to his throat. Bill’s hands are rough on his thighs, his chest solid against Holden’s.

Bill carts him over to the bed and drops him. Holden bounces, legs flailing inelegantly and then Bill is stabbing out his cigarette in the ash tray and yanking the button-fly of Holden’s shorts. 

“How many buttons do these need?” Bill asks and finally he’s shucking the shorts down Holden’s thighs. Holden shivers, bare from the waist down now. “Going commando, Holden? It’s a brave, new world.”

“Walsh said it’d ruin the lines,” Holden says, flushing at how stupid he sounds. Bill doesn’t seem to notice from where he’s smoothing his hands up Holden’s thighs towards his groin. The look on Bill’s face is tender and his fingers are so careful on Holden’s skin. Holden feels feverish. 

“We wouldn’t want to ruin the lines,” Bill parrots, almost smiling and Holden sits up enough to grab him by the shirt front and drag him down. 

“You’re not getting out of this with your shirt still on,” Holden says, and he tears Bill’s shirt open. Buttons ping off the lamp and the headboard and Holden smiles meanly to keep himself from outright laughing. 

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Bill says but there’s a laugh in his voice. “This shirt cost more than your entire outfit.” 

“Maybe,” Holden says, trailing off and squirming out of his polo. “Maybe you should buy cheaper shirts.”

“Maybe you should--Ah, hell,” Bill cuts himself off and leans down to suck hard on one of Holden’s nipples. Holden pants, arching up against his mouth and laces his fingers in Bill’s hair. 

“Wait,” Holden says as Bill moves down his body. “I need a shower before I even consider--well.”

“You’re a priss,” Bill says and drags the edge of his teeth over Holden’s ribs. Holden feels a rush of affection fill his chest. He cards his fingers over Bill’s cropped hair, smiles down at him. “I don’t mind.”

“I mind,” Holden says and curls up into a sitting position. He gets caught in another kiss and Bill curls his fingers under Holden’s thighs. He feels drunk, dizzy off Bill. “Shower.”

“Mmm. Fine,” Bill says and stands up fully. His shirt is open and Holden’s head spins again when he realizes that this is nearly the most of Bill’s skin he’s ever seen. 

Holden leans in, presses his own love-bite into the freckled skin of Bill’s sternum. He’s salty against Holden’s tongue but the way Bill clutches him closer, drags their dicks together, overflows Holden’s brain with lust. 

He bites his way back up, over the clavicle and onto the tender curve of Bill’s neck. Bill is so muscular, so solid, and Holden licks a long line from the hollow of his throat up around to under his ear. Holden presses sharp kisses to Bill’s jugular, pushes his shirt down off his shoulders. 

It puddles around their feet. Bill draws him even closer, one hand firm in the small of Holden’s back and the other fisted in his hair. Holden leans, obsessed, to trace the lines of Bill’s deltoid with his tongue and his bicep. 

He slicks his tongue into the crook of Bill’s elbow and pulls Bill’s arm up so he can gloss his mouth over the blue-green veins of Bill’s wrist. He’s consumed, beyond himself. Lost in the taste of Bill. 

Bill’s fingers taste of cigarette but Holden laps between them either way, letting Bill’s fingertips glide along his molars and sucking the sea brine off them. Holden moans, wonders if Bill’s cock will taste this good. Bill grips his hair tighter and yanks his head back, pulling his fingers free from Holden’s mouth with a slick sound. 

“You don’t want that shower,” Bill says, voice low and eyes pinned on Holden’s. He takes hold of both Holden’s wrists and folds them behind his back. Holden’s arched over Bill’s forearm, naked, and presses against him. “You want me to make you taste it. You want to be taken down a peg. Shiny-new-penny Holden Ford, sucking the day off Bill Tench. Isn’t that right, Holden?”

“Bill, please,” Holden says and Bill twists his wrists so he’s arched even more, up on his toes with his calves shaking. He’s impossibly hard, aching with the need to grind himself against Bill. He gives into the urge, rocking on his top-toes to get any friction against Bill’s suits pants. 

“You’re shameless, Holden,” Bill says, matter-of-factly. “You want to get your mouth on me so badly that you don’t care how nasty you’re being.”

Holden is beyond words, humping Bill’s hip and panting and that’s when Bill let’s his wrists go. Holden falters, wobbling on weakened legs, and Bill takes his hand gently. He looks at Holden from below his eyebrows. The change in tone is incredible and leaves Holden reeling. 

“But you don’t get to be nasty without asking for it,” Bill says and Holden flushes even more at the idea. Bill leads him by the hand into the bathroom, closes the door and draws him in for another kiss. Bill’s hands are cradling his jaw and Holden’s fully leaning into, letting Bill lick softly against his tongue and running his fingertips over the muscles of his back. 

While Bill turns on the shower, Holden leans on the sink. He puts his hands on the counter and catches his breath. Bill’s hands slide over his belly, pulling him back against Bill’s hardness. One hand slides up to Holden’s neck, pulling him up so he’s stretched along Bill’s body. Holden reaches down and rubs his hands over Bill’s thighs. 

“You look good like this,” Bill says, voice rough. His hand on Holden’s belly slides down to grab Holden’s cock. He works it slowly, making Holden sigh in relief at finally being touched. “Spread over me like a tramp. Look at yourself.”

Holden does, just barely glances at himself through his lashes. He’s violent red all over, wanton. His lips are shiny with spit and swollen and Bill’s hand is obscene moving over his dick. 

“Yeah,” Bill says and tightens his hand on Holden’s throat. Holden leans back more, head tilted against Bill’s. “You’re ready for it.”

“Ready for what?” Holden asks and Bill leans in to kiss his neck. Holden feels his pants slither against the back of his legs. 

“Get in the shower,” Bill says and Holden does. The showerhead is wide and rectangular, waterfalling over them both. The water is hot, almost overwhelming against his sensitive skin, but Bill steps in after him, turns his face into the water. 

Bill wipes a hand down his face, water clumps his eyelashes and Holden watches the water trickle down his neck. He leans in and licks the strong line of Bill’s neck, presses into him. 

“Holden, tell me what you want,” Bill says and Holden pulls back. Wraps his arms around Bill’s neck and meets his eyes. He can feel a nervous bundle in his stomach but the idea of being honest is thrilling in a way nothing ever has been. 

“Bill, you have ruined me,” Holden says, holding Bill’s eyes carefully. Bill pulls back a little, a question folding his eyebrows. “You have debased me. Turned me from an upstanding federal agent to someone who lies to my country and hides illegal activity. You’ve done things to me I couldn’t have ever even dreamed of. Made me feel shame and guilt.”

“Holden—,” Bill starts and Holden shakes his head, carries on. 

“I have to say this,” he says and Bill falls quiet. “Bill, you have violated every moral I have.”

Bill is silent, head bent slightly down and eyes closed. He’s tense, barely breathing, hands clenched into fists, and Holden presses just a little closer. He thinks about the moral lines he’s crossed. He thinks about Bill standing in that hotel room, swearing revenge. He thinks about how his breath catches when Bill meets his eyes and how his stomach swoops everytime Bill says his real name.

“Do it again,” Holden breathes and Bill’s eyes snap open. He jerks Holden closer, presses a bruising kiss to his mouth. 

He grabs Holden’s ass in one hand, hooks the thumb of the other in Holden’s mouth to pull his mouth open. Bill’s own mouth is invasive in a new way, curling their tongues together and sucking Holden’s. He bites Holden’s lip and Holden sucks in a stifled breath. 

“You’re a fucking terror,” Bill says and then he’s dipping his tongue back into Holden’s mouth. Both hands squeeze Holden’s ass and he moans, rolling against Bill. 

Bill turns them, reaches for something behind Holden and then something cold drizzles on his back. 

“What—,” Holden asks and then Bill’s hands are sliding over his back and down to his ass. Soap, he thinks and Bill’s hands glide to the front and his fingers play over Holden’s nipples. Holden shivers, arching against Bill’s calloused fingers and his hair tips back into the water. 

“You like that?” Bill asks and plucks his fingers over Holden’s nipples. Looking down, Holden nearly blacks out from arousal. Bill’s fingers look sinful moving through the soap around the pink peaks of Holden’s chest. “Tell me.”

“Don’t stop,” Holden says, looking up at Bill. He bites his lip to keep from moaning when Bill gives him a particularly vicious twist. He lets out a harsh breath and Bill does it again. 

“Don’t quiet yourself,” Bill says and Holden shakes his head. “Oh, I get it. Don’t want your agent friend to hear you moaning like a hussy.”

“Bill,” Holden gasps, blood rushing to his face so fast he feels light-headed. Bill twists them again and Holden stifles another moan. “Don’t say that.”

“You want me to ruin you,” Bill growls and turns Holden around. Holden pushes his hands out instinctively, pressing them passed the waterfall and against the tile. He has to keep pushing back or his face will dip in the water. “You asked so nicely.”

“I don’t—I want—,” Holden whines and Bill’s big fingers move down to pull his legs apart. The water sluices down his chest and around his hips and Holden shivers at the sensation. 

Bill reaches between his legs, pressing kisses to the center of his shoulders and his hands feel massive rubbing up and down the insides of Holden’s thighs. 

“You were so loud last time,” Bill says, still only touching his legs. “I want to hear you again.”

“I can’t,” Holden says, craning his head to try and look at Bill. His arms falter and water slips over his head. He pushes back, closer to Bill and away from the water. Blinks it out of his eyes. 

“You’re going to,” Bill says and he slides his thumbs up and near Holden’s perineum. He rubs a thumb over it and Holden turns to bite his arm to keep from moaning. “You want my mouth, Holden?”

“Yes,” Holden moans immediately, arousal taking over his higher functioning and Bill spreads his cheeks. Rubs a thumb over his hole. Holden cants his hips back, presses closer to Bill. 

“Tell me why.”

“I want you to make me lose myself again. I lo—I need it. I need you to make me let go. I can’t stop thinking about it, Bill. I can’t forget what you did to me,” Holden says, desperation ringing in his voice. “You changed me.”

Bill is quiet for a long moment and Holden can hear his heartbeat pounding in his head. He overstepped, he spoke too honestly, he—

Bill’s tongue slicks over him, fierce and hot and his hands—Oh, God. 

His hands. 

He’s bruising Holden with his grip and then he hikes Holden’s leg up and forward and his tongue gets deeper. He can feel Bill moaning against him and that spurs him further into the fire of arousal. 

He’s moving back against Bill’s mouth, writhing and rolling with him and he whines when Bill pulls his mouth away. 

“You want more?” Bill asks, voice rough, and Holden nods fiercely. “Then you need to let me hear you.”

Holden chokes on his next words, Bill’s words tear a moan from him. He arches back, opening himself as much as possible and Bill’s tongue curves into him. He’s mindless, wild and rutting back against Bill and he can barely breath around his noises. 

Bill tears away from Holden, standing and leaving the shower. Holden stays braced against the wall, mind reeling, while he gets his breath back. A plastic cap opens and Holden’s breath starts speeding up again. 

“Wait,” he says and turns to Bill. Bill looks far too pleased for Holden’s liking, smirking with his head tilted. He’s gloriously naked. 

“Yes?” Bill asks and Holden’s eyes fall to his cock. Holden hasn’t looked at one closely aside from his own. Bill’s is thicker and the head is stouter. Holden likes that he’s the one who made it hard, that made it jut up from Bill’s pelvis. 

“I want to give you oral sex,” Holden say, eyes darting back up to rest of Bill’s face. “Can I?”

“Oral sex, huh?” Bill asks and sets the white tube on a ledge. He inclined his head and reaches down to grab himself, stroking in long, upward pulls. “You’re going to suck my cock?”

“Yes, please,” Holden says and he kneels with enough speed to make his knees crunch on the tile. 

Bill laughs and walks closer, working himself still. He grabs Holden’s hair and pulls his head back with the other hand. Holden can’t decide between looking at Bill’s smug face or his hand moving over his ruddy cock. 

“Go ahead,” Bill says and Holden braces his hands on Bill’s thighs. He licks his lips, preparing, and then lays his head against Bill’s leg. Bill moves his hand to his hip. 

Holden wants to approach it clinically, wants to be sure he is thorough in his first attempt. He takes Bill’s cock in his hand and licks with the flat of his tongue from the root to the tip. 

“Fuck,” Bill grunts and Holden licks again. He takes the head into his mouth and feels the weight on his tongue. He curls his tongue around the head, sinks forward on it. It’s a strange sensation, having someone in his mouth but the noises he’s dragging out of Bill makes his cock ache. 

Bill is making tiny, sounds, whispering his name. Smoothing fingers down his hollowed cheeks. Holden looks up at him, despite the water droplets bouncing onto his face, and meets Bill’s eyes. 

“You look like you were born to be there,” Bill says and the idea pleases Holden. He doubles-down, leaning in more and trying to fit more into his mouth. “Fuck, you’re hungry for it.”

Holden preens, eyes fluttering closed, and he reaches between his legs to fist his dick. He moans around Bill and Bill’s hip stutter in response. Holden leans up more, trying different things with his tongue and after a specific twist of his tongue, Bill pulls him off by his hair. 

“Up,” Bill says firmly. Holden climbs up, using Bill’s body for leverage and Bill kisses him, open mouthed and sloppy. Bill turns him, keeping their kisses going even as Holden’s back is pressed against his chest. Bill reaches down to jerk Holden off, catches Holden’s moans in his mouth. 

“I’m gonna fill you up,” Bill says through gritted teeth. He grips Holden around the chest and rubs his hard, spit-slick cock against Holden’s ass. Holden folds his hands over Bill’s and tilts his hips back against him. The cap opens again and then there’s a finger pressing inside him. 

Holden arches more, leaning his full weight on Bill’s arm across his chest, and Bill responds by fucking another finger into him. Holden finds himself making these little, punched-out noises that thrill and embarrass him in turn. 

Then, Bill is pressing something blunt and relentless against him. 

His cock, Holden thinks and his eyes roll back in his head. Bill doesn’t pause, just presses and presses until Holden is panting and gasping. He’s impossibly full, chasing air and Bill’s cock all at once. 

“You’re mine,” Bill grunts and he readjusts so he’s got Holden suspended by his elbows. Holden is leaned forward, feet planted and chest bowed forward. All his weight is held by Bill and he feels as substantial as a dandelion. Then, Bill starts moving. 

The sinful drag of his cock is more than Holden can bear and he lets out a building moan, ending with a babble of Bill’s name and prayers. His entire world shrinks down to Bill and himself, two bodies moving towards the same goal. He feels torn apart in the best way possible. 

“You’re mine,” Bill repeats and Holden nods furiously. Bill picks up speed, jerking Holden on his dick like a blow-up doll. Holden just allows himself be moved by Bill, as always. 

“Yours,” Holden chokes out, the force of Bill’s thrusts making his cadence bounce. 

“Just mine.”

“Only yours,” Holden sighs. “Forever.”

The words carry more weight than he anticipated. He finds that he means it, at least here in this moment. He is Bill’s. He wants to stay with Bill forever. He wants to be kept, a pretty toy. The idea spurs him into action. He pulls his arms free and braces himself on the wall ahead, frees up his body to move back against Bill. 

Bill adjusts easily enough, moves his hands to Holden’s hips and sets a new pace. Holden rides it, clumsy but enthusiastic. The new sensations finally reach a place of pure pleasure and Holden can barely finish one moan before the next has started. 

It’s a frantic cycle of motion--Bill fucking into him, Holden pushing back and then parting just to do it again. Holden has never felt pleasure like this. Nothing has ever come close to the incomparable heat of Bill’s cock inside him. Life begins and ends, here with Bill. 

Holden doesn’t want to know anything else. 

***

After, Holden heads directly for the sink, filling a glass and downing it, then refilling. 

“Holy shit,” Walsh says from behind him and he turns slowly towards her. He had been so focused on his thirst that he hadn’t even checked the room. “Holden, what are you thinking?”

“Walsh,” he says, faltering. “It’s—It’s for the job.”

“That is not for the job,” she hisses and climbs off her chair. She crosses the room, arms folded and stands before him. She keeps her voice sharp and low. “That was--something else. That was you getting your rocks off with the biggest fucking criminal I’ve ever been in the room with. What the fucking fuck?”

“I’m not going to make excuses,” Holden says softly. “It’s the simplest--”

“Simple?” Walsh laughs and reaches over to smack Holden’s chest. “There is nothing simple about this. Are you a queer?”

“No,” Holden says immediately and Walsh curls her lip. 

“You have to leave this op, Ford,” she says. “You’re going to get caught by someone who gives a shit and you’re going to get killed. Feds don’t get to be queer.”

“Walsh,” Holden says and she glances away. Tears sparkle in her eyes in the low light and Holden softens. “Penelope. I’m being careful.” 

“You aren’t,” she says softly. “The hickies. The finger bruises on your hips. You aren’t being careful. What if I had bugged this place, Holden? You think Turner wouldn’t lead the fucking lynch mob once he heard the tapes?”

“I don’t know what to say,” Holden says and she smacks him in the chest again. “Penelope, this isn’t like anything I’ve felt before. He’s--It’s all different with him.”

“He’s a murderer, Holden. A fucking low-life criminal. Doesn’t matter how he swings. He’s a monster and you’re a goddamn idiot for letting him get to you,” Penelope snaps and the door to the bedroom opens. 

“Harry?” Bill calls and he steps into the sitting room. “Everything alright?”

Penelope wipes the tears away from under her eyes and wraps her arms around herself. Holden sighs. 

“Everything is alright,” Holden says. “Bea just drank too much. I’m going to put her to bed.”

Bill doesn't reply, just closes the door. Holden feels suffocated by the layers of dishonesty he’s under. Walsh is dry-eyed now, arms crossed and eyes fixed on Holden. Holden leans back against the counter and presses his fingers to his left temple. 

“It is going to be over soon,” Holden says and Walsh shakes her head slowly. 

“I thought you were smarter than this,” Walsh says. “I didn’t think you would--I knew he had his way with you, but I didn’t think you were willing--”

“What? So, to clarify--”

“That came out wrong. I’ve fucked a mark before. But it was the job. I didn’t trot around after like a Playboy Bunny, Ford. You’re compromised. Fuck,” Walsh hisses and rubs her palms into her eyes. “You’ve got to get out tonight.”

“I’m not going to,” Holden says, stomach in knots, and she huffs a breath. “And you aren’t going to say anything. Turner would kill me. Genuinely.”

“Are you just going to ride into the sunset with our mark?” She asks in a heated whisper. 

“No. I’m close to cracking this,” Holden says and she scoffs. 

“You’re going to arrest him after all this? I heard you, Holden. You’re not collaring that son-of-a-bitch. You’re going to let him get away with it.”

“I’m not. I have him pinned. And I--I’m an agent first. Before any of the rest of it,” Holden says. His stomach twists further and he firms his chin. He wills himself to mean it. 

“I really hope so,” Walsh says acidically, a parting shot, before she marches into her room. 

Holden watches her go. 

***

The days after they return home from Miami are spent in bed. Bill is a drowning man, reaching with bruising hands and soft mouth. Holden has never been more conflicted. Holden has never been more anxious.

And then, it’s time. 

Holden’s hands sweat as he carries the files on Ivankov’s information up to Bill’s mansion. Ivankov’s safe houses, his daily schedules, all of it. 

Bill stands when he comes into the sitting room, crosses to meet him. 

“You have it,” he says and Holden holds out the files. Bill takes them carefully and leans forward to press his mouth to Holden’s forehead. “Thank you.”

“What else do you need?” Holden asks and Bill shakes his head. 

“Go back to your safe house,” Bill says and holds the files to his chest. “Don’t come looking until it’s over.”

Holden tries to fight it, tries to argue, but Bill is as certain as granite. Holden leaves, stomach turning in knots. He locks himself back in the bathroom and throws up until only bile falls out of his mouth. 

He turns over his time with Bill, rolls memories around over and over. Their time on the roof, the plane rides. The first time Bill kissed him. 

Their time has been culminating in a crash since the start. Every action, leading towards disaster. Holden hadn’t let himself think about it, but here, in the hours before the aftermath, he can think of nothing else. 

The scanner bleets into action. 

“...shots fired. 1600 Janes Road. Consider suspects armed and dangerous….”

Holden is up, running, before he can think. He steals Walsh’s keys and speeds across town like a man possessed. He is possessed.

He’s too late. 

Holden pulls up to the mansion on the end of town. He pulls up onto the lawn, sod be damned, and barrels out on to the turf with his gun out and cocked. The front door is open and Holden passes at least a dozen bodies until he comes around the corner into the pool room. 

Ivankov is already dead, facedown in the pool. Blood stains the water around his body, pink against the blue. Bill is sitting on the edge of the pool with his feet in the water. 

He’s slumped over himself, hand loose around a pistol at his side. Holden can barely make himself walk closer. 

“Bill?” He breathes. Bill doesn’t flinch. There’s blood winding through the tiling around him and Holden’s knees falter. Bill is so still. “Bill, please.”

“Hey, altar boy,” Bill says at last, voice rough. 

“Oh,” Holden chokes out and falls to his knees. He closes the last foot between them and puts a hand on Bill’s shoulder. “Are you injured, Bill?”

“No,” Bill says. “Not my blood.”

Police sirens filter into the night and Holden’s breath kicks up a notch. He moves to Bill’s side and presses a trembling hand to his jaw. 

“Look at me,” Holden says and Bill blinks. There’s blood sprayed over his face and on the collar of his button up. Bill turns his face slowly. 

“Holden?” Bill says, surprise coloring his face. He turns back to the pool and takes in the floating body. “I did it.”

“Oh, God,” Holden breathes and he pulls Bill’s face over again. He leans in and presses their foreheads together. “You have to stand up. You have to run.”

“I’m not running,” Bill says. “I deserve to pay for what I’ve done.”

“Bill, you have to run. They’re close. Can’t you hear them?” 

The police sirens are louder now, on them. Bill nods and leans in to press a searing kiss to Holden’s mouth. Holden melts into it, trying to force Bill to realize he has to leave. 

“Cuff me,” Bill says and Holden draws back, shaking his head. “You have to. Cuff me.”

The sirens are outside. 

“Holden!” Bill yells, loud in the echoing pool room. “Cuff me now. Do it.”

“I can’t,” Holden says, still shaking his head. “I can’t, Bill.”

“You think I give a shit what you can’t do? Cuff me, Holden. Now.”

Holden crawls behind Bill numbly, pulls his cuffs out. Bill sticks his wrists behind his back and Holden snaps the cuffs onto them. 

His head falls between Bill’s shoulder blades and he blinks against the burning in his eyes. 

“I love you,” Holden says, the words jerking from his mouth unbidden and Bill huffs a bitter laugh.

“You’re mine,” Bill says. He reaches up behind his back and grabs what he can of Holden’s hands. “No matter where I go.”

“I don’t want to do this,” Holden says. “Why won’t you run?”

“I deserve whatever I get, Holden,” Bill says and he squeezes Holden’s hands. “Be careful in the interviews. Don’t confuse your story. Keep it as close to the truth as possible.”

“What do I do now?” Holden asks and Bill squeezes his hands harder. 

Holden can hear feet stomping through the hallways and voices calling for him. 

“Tell them where we are,” Bill says and Holden rolls him onto his front, kneels behind him. Holden sucks in a breath, chin up and eyes stinging. 

“In here,” Holden croaks. He clears his throat and looks up at the ceiling. “In here!”

“Holden?” Walsh calls and then she bursts around the corner, gun up. Once she spots him, she dashes over. She holsters her gun and grabs his chin, scrubbing his face with her shirt sleeve roughly. “You have—blood on your mouth. Fuck.”

Two more agents round the corner and then Turner brings up the rear. Walsh jerks her hands back, wipes her bangs off her forehead. 

Holden puts his chin down. 

“You have the right to remain silent,” Holden says. Bill sighs and the tension bleeds out of his broad shoulders. “Anything you say can and will be held against you…”

***

Holden doesn’t see Bill again during the trial. 

Turner seals Holden’s deposition and it’s only shared with the two opposing councils and he isn’t asked to appear. It’s the trial of the decade and there is no shortage of news coverage. 

Holden watches at first, silent in his lonely apartment. But it’s hard watching Bill take everything without argument. 

Bill doesn’t try to deny anything. He pleads guilty. He’s sentenced with a slough of crimes and he gets two life sentences. 

Holden takes a sabbatical from the undercover team.

Then, he takes a job as an instructor at Quantico. 

He compartmentalizes and throws himself into his work and doesn’t think about Bill Tench for years. Nor does he think about the box of unsent letters under his bed or the newspaper clipping of Bill coming out of the courthouse in a pinstripe suit. 

Life keeps turning. 

He’s twenty-nine when he gets the post card. It’s almost a decade since Bill was sentenced. The post card comes to his apartment building. It’s glossy with a lighthouse on the front. 

The back is addressed in a neat scrawl and there’s a little note. 

Altar boy—

Holden’s vision blurs with tears immediately after his brain processes the words. He sucks in a breath, bends at the waist and sinks to the ground. It’s a long moment before he can breathe normally again. 

He unfurls from the ball he’s tucked himself into and kneels, holds the post card before himself. 

Altar boy, if you still think of me keep reading. I’ll wait for you where it all started. I leave at the end of the month. Wear the cowboy boots. Yours, B. 

***

And he goes. Of course, he goes. 

Holden hems and haws through a half a day at work and then he’s driving through the night back to Chicago. To the club. 

To Bill. 

The club is called something new now and it’s easily three in the morning when he bursts through the doors. 

“I already made last call, man,” the bartender tells him and Holden flashes his badge. 

“I need to get up to the roof,” Holden snaps and the bartender raises his hands in submission. 

Holden follows the once familiar track, into the VIP section and down the hallway and up to the roof. He can barely breathe as he pushes open the door and steps out under the stars. 

He’s there. Bill. Smoking a cigarette and sitting on the ledge. Just like the first time Holden really saw him and just like he’s been every other time Holden envisioned this moment. He’s older, his face creased by time, but he’s still so handsome. 

“I don’t have the boots anymore,” Holden says and Bill surges into motion. He throws his cigarette down and crosses the roof. Holden is already reaching for him when Bill finally takes him in his arms. 

“Damn the boots,” Bill says, mirth in his voice, and he turns to dip Holden into a kiss. 

It’s movie star magic. A backdrop of glittering stars, strong arms around Holden, the twin pistols pressed against his arms where they’re wrapped around Bill. 

It’s perfection. Bliss. Holden never wants the kiss to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG HUGE thanks to Jamie. This wouldn’t exist without their cheerleading and beta skills. I’m so thankful for all the people who read and commented and cared about these boys. Thank you thank you thank you

**Author's Note:**

> Big shout out to Jamie for helping for wrangle this giant AU into something comprehensible. You can follow her on tumblr at thatmagicfeeling. You can also find me on tumblr at mormon-hair. Thank you for reading.


End file.
